TNLPH Drabbles
by tnplh
Summary: 100% Captain Swan - not so much drabbles. Stories range from 1,000 words to 10,000 words. pottery, secret dating, best friends, co-workers, tattoo, bodega!killian, musician!killian, halloween, kiss cam, grocery store, runaway dog, New Year's Eve. But Chapter 13. That's the one everyone loves.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N 1 - I feel like we need some fluff. I hope this helps with the angst we're all suffering from._

* * *

What was she doing here? Another Friday night, another "Girl's Night Out" class that her friends had talked her into signing up for. Of course they were all about these art classes. Glass blowing, paint nights, etching, drawing, and now this? Pottery. 'Come for Girl's Night Out! We'll have fun.' She always ended up with a headache and a shitty piece of art.

Emma was just not one for the frivolity. There was only so much oohing and ahhing and screeching she could tolerate while she feigned interest as the girls exchanged their latest dating stories. But she could never say no to her sister, Mary Margaret, or be rude to their mutual best friend, Ruby. So she found herself in girl hell, with Ruby, Mary Margaret and several of their other friends, yet again.

At least tonight there was wine? Yes, that was a question. While on Emma's side, it made it easier to bear when she could have a few glasses of wine, it also made the other girl's shrieks just a little bit shriller.

It wasn't that she didn't love Mary Margaret and Ruby, truly she did. But she loved them minus the gaggle. She loved it when it was just the three of them, and she felt like she could be herself. When she didn't have to put on the facade of "everything is perfect" happiness. Nights like tonight, well, these were hell.

But here she was, with a full glass of Pinot Grigio, because damn it if wine was available she was going to take full advantage. She camped out in front of the furthest to the back potter's wheel in the studio, waiting for the instructor to finally come in.

* * *

Killian knew what kind of night was in store for him. Booking these "Girl's Nights Out" had been a great way to help balance the books at the studio, helping to keep them afloat. Pottery was not exactly the most lucrative of the arts. Some nights he just really, really wasn't in the mood for the woman who attended. Usually it was gatherings of book clubs who had given up on actually reading the books, or sorority alumni groups. Tonight he understood it was just a group of friends. He really hoped they were well behaved. Luckily they didn't actually use the kiln, so there were few chances that anyone got injured, just he didn't want to babysit tonight. His studio partner, Jefferson, usually helped, but tonight he'd called in sick so he had the group to himself.

He'd been in the back preparing the clay when they entered, and based on the rise in the decibel level alone he knew he was in trouble. He was pretty sure tonight would be one of the groups where only about 4 of the woman actually even finished anything, and the rest just stood around and watched.

He took a deep breath and finally walked out to introduce himself to the group.

"Hello, ladies. I'm Killian. Which one of you lovely ladies is Ruby?" All the ladies turned to see where the English accent hand come from, and had not been disappointed when they saw the gorgeous, dark haired man with the scruff.

"That's me." A leggy brunette raised her glass and saluted. "See girls, I told you. My friend said he's hot. And, listen to that accent!"

"RUBY!" He turned to find the voice that had so quickly admonished her friend. "I'm sorry, Killian. You'll have to excuse my friend. You'll be getting a lot more of that tonight, I'm sure."

His heart hit his chest when he saw her. Long blonde hair, porcelain skin, green eyes. The instructions the studio sends around prior to coming in directs all class takers to dress comfortably, wearing long sleeved cotton shirts, jeans, closed toed shoes, and hair pulled back. She'd clearly read the instructions and followed them to the letter. Grungy, stained jeans and a faded t shirt, and yet he'd never seen anyone so beautiful in all his life.

Trying not to gawk he turned his attention back to Ruby. As she was the one who'd booked the night, he went over the particulars of the agreement, finalizing the details of payment, and ensuring everyone was there. Once that had all been taken care of, he called everyone over to the center of the room.

"All right, I know you're all anxious to start at the wheels, but there's actually a lot of prep work we need to do to the clay before we get to that point." He outlined all the steps they would be taking, wedging the clay to remove the air, centering it on the wheel, and then finally working on the wheel. There was a lot of work ahead of them, and he could tell he'd already lost a few of the women. Taking a quick glance at the blonde, he was encouraged to see that she was listening intently, and had followed the instructions taking her clay to the table to start working it. His heart would have been crushed if she'd followed the others to the table with the wine.

Over the course of the evening, most of the women were content to watch him throw his pot, having given up as soon as they couldn't get their clay centered. He actually went from wheel to wheel, centering the clay for each of them. He hated when people didn't have an end product, and usually ended up making a small bowl for each participant to pretend they'd made themselves.

He made his way over to the blonde. She'd been working quietly on her wheel, and had made progress, having followed every single one of his instructions.

"That's quite good, love. You have natural talent."

She looked up startled, and accidentally knocked one of the edges of her bowl. Her eyes widened in horror.

"AH, no worries…" He wanted to fill in with her name, and realized he didn't know it.

He knelt down next to her, instructing her to keep the wheel moving at the same speed, and put his hands over hers, showing her exactly how to put the edge back into place. Within a minute the bowl was as good as new.

"I think it's finished, love. We won't be firing these tonight, but I'll show you the glazing colors to pick from. We get your details, fire them and have them delivered to you."

* * *

A week later Emma arrived to find a box that must have been hand delivered. She smiled when she noticed the pottery studio's logo on the outside, and picked it up and carried it inside.

When she opened it she was amazed. It was better than she even remembered. She knew that she had done good work that night, but seeing it completed confirmed it. She had selected a blue glaze, and it was gorgeous. She took it into her bedroom and put it next to her bed.

That night, as she was falling asleep, she looked at it and remembered how relaxing she found the class, despite the rest of the women there. She decided she'd sign up for a solo class.

If the feel of the instructor's hands on hers, the memory of his accent, or the blue of his eyes, factored into it, she didn't admit it to herself.

* * *

Wednesday nights were beginner classes. These were some of Killian's favorite nights to teach. All types of students, from middle school students to the elderly, were there for all sorts of reasons. But they were all there because they wanted to learn. He spent Wednesday evenings going around the studio giving each student whatever help they needed, depending on whatever they were working on that night.

So when he saw Emma walk in the door it didn't register at first. Jefferson had gone over and gotten her started and given her clay to work. It wasn't until a full 15 minutes later when he finished up with one of the regulars that he realized who it was standing at the bench working the clay. He went over to correct her wedging technique, and she looked up a little sheepishly.

"Hello, love. Fancy seeing you here." She smiled. "See, you've got to push the clay away from you, like this." He looked at her, silently asking permission to work the clay for her, and she stepped back. Watching his hands as he deftly pushed through the tough earth, she couldn't help but admire his strength. "Did you learn nothing last time?" he teased her.

At that she laughed. "It was a little hard, with the girls and all. That's kind of why I'm back. When I could ignore them all, I realized I found it really relaxing. I wanted to give it another try." He still hadn't given her the clay back, and the two just stood silently, shoulder to shoulder as he worked it. It wasn't until another student called for Killian's attention that he realized he hadn't given it back, and he shook himself out of a daydream.

"Emma Swan, right? Look, your clay is ready for the wheel. Take it over and I'll be over in a second to help you get it centered. It won't do you any good to start trying to do anything if it's not centered."

Jefferson noticed his partner's interest in the blonde, and stepped up that night, quickly moving to take care of anyone's questions, leaving Killian to assist Emma the rest of the evening. At the end of the night, she had a coffee mug, and a smile on her face that Killian would remember the rest of his life.

As he helped her pick the glaze for the mug he commented again on her skill. "I'm serious, love. Natural talent. You should really consider signing up for regular classes." She tried to brush off the compliment, but he wouldn't let her. "Come back Friday night. That's the night we glaze. I'll help you throw something more difficult, and you can learn how we use the kiln. Please, you'll enjoy it."

He looked at her with his blue eyes, and there was no way she could say no.

* * *

She came back on Friday, and realized it was just her, Killian, and Jefferson. And beer. She was offered a bottle as soon as she walked through the door. The easy atmosphere was exactly what she needed after a long day, and she settled into working with the two guys easily. At first, they were serious about getting everything dipped and carefully placed into the kiln, but once it was fired up, the joking started.

Killian took her into the studio, and worked with her on the wheel, teaching her some new techniques that would allow for thinner walls on her bowl, allowing for more delicate work in the future. Within an hour, she had a very fine piece that he then showed her how to lift the edges on, and it looked like a clover within seconds. She was speechless.

As they'd worked, Jefferson had been working on a piece as well. She found out quite a bit about the two. Killian had moved here 10 years ago to be closer to his brother, and met Jefferson in art school. Jefferson was an odd duck, and Killian quietly said it was too many years with experimental drugs back in college, but that he was a good guy. She liked him. She liked seeing their friendship. Eventually Jefferson left to get to a date, leaving her alone with Killian.

She was nervous. She was glad she'd had a couple beers. She was glad to hear the beeping of the timer on the kiln.

When she hopped up thinking they were going to start unloading, he pulled her back down, and she landed close to him on the couch they'd been sitting on in the back of the studio.

"Where do you think you're going, love?"

"Don't we have to unload the kiln?"

He laughed. "Not if you don't want to get burned. We stay here while the kiln's going to make sure it doesn't catch fire and burn the place down, but we can't unload it until tomorrow when it's not a billion degrees. Nothing left to do tonight."

Her eyes settled on his, and her body registered just how close they were.

"Oh." The beer was doing nothing to help her nerves at this point. "I guess I should get going then. Don't want to keep you here later than you need to be." She moved to stand up again, and he gently took her hand.

"You don't need to go. Or, if you do need to go, I understand. Just, I'd like to see you again. I mean, outside of class." She realized that she heard the same nervousness in his voice that she herself felt. She sat back down, not letting go of his hand, and smiled at him.

"I don't need to go, not just yet." When his lips met hers she knew the heat she felt wasn't from the adjacent furnace.

* * *

Over the next two months, Emma became quite the expert potter. She spent a lot of time at Killian's studio, both in official classes and just there hanging out with Jefferson and Killian while they worked. She threw on her own while they did, and he hadn't been lying when he said she had natural talent. He counted Emma among his best students, and it was soon that he graduated her from the Wednesday night beginner classes to the Tuesday night intermediate classes.

Even love hadn't blinded him to the point where he was having her join the Thursday night advanced classes.

He was in love. But something told him she wasn't ready to hear that yet. He knew something was holding her back, and he was fine with that. He got the impression she'd been hurt in the past, and didn't want to pressure her.

So they hung out in the studio, threw pots, and on nights when they were both free, would go out on proper dates.

He once asked about meeting her friends, officially. But she brushed it off. She said that it was more than what she wanted to subject him to, and he should really thank her for it. It was said with a kiss, but he couldn't help but be troubled by it. He loved her, and it wouldn't do if she wouldn't open up her life to him.

But he could wait until she was ready.

* * *

Mary Margaret and Ruby arrived with a bottle of wine and dessert, and curiosity as to why Emma had skipped almost every social engagement with them for the past two months. It was her turn to host their monthly dinner, a tradition that no one was allowed to cancel on, ever. The two were ready to finally get answers out of their best friend and sister.

As soon as they walked in, they started pestering her with questions about what was going on.

It was Ruby who started to notice it first.

"Emma, this is a nice vase. Where'd you get it?" Emma turned a tiny bit red as she noticed the blue pottery vase Ruby was holding up. It was something she had finished last week, and Killian had just delivered to her the night before.

"Oh, I just found that at a store last week."

Mary Margaret continued. "Look at this one. This is gorgeous." She pointed to the platter that sat on Emma's dinette table. It was actually a masterpiece of Killian's. The pottery portion of the piece itself wasn't that complicated, but the glazing pattern had been complicated, and he'd been quite proud to show it off to her. And she'd been touched when he said he wanted her to have it.

The two women spent all night questioning all of the pottery in Emma's apartment, never letting up.

But Emma never cracked. It wasn't until Mary Margaret went into use the restroom, which you couldn't get to without going through Emma's bedroom, and came out holding a ceramic ring holder, holding it out to Ruby.

"Ruby, she's got a ring holder? Emma, what's going on?"

Emma closed her eyes, giving herself a moment to collect her thoughts before answering.

"Remember that night we did Girl's Night Out at the pottery studio?"

Ruby answered first. "Yeah, and that super hot English guy who taught the, OH MY GOD. Emma have you been getting some?"

Emma rolled her eyes, and didn't dignify that with a response. She turned more to Mary Margaret to continue her story. "Well, it turned out I really enjoyed it, and I started going back to take private classes."

"I bet they were private classes," Ruby interjected.

"RUBY!" Mary Margaret shushed her. "Do you want to hear this or not? Emma, please, continue."

"Well, as Ruby so delicately put it, Killian is super hot, but he's also really nice, and smart and funny. We started hanging out, and, well one thing's led to another and we're" Emma crinkled up her face, not believing she was about to admit this for the first time, "kind of seeing each other.

The two friends couldn't have had more different reactions. While Mary Margaret responded with a "Oh Emma, that's so wonderful" and pulled Emma in for a hug, Ruby yelled, "Hot Damn! How is he in bed?"

Emma rolled her eyes at Ruby, but took the two on a tour of the apartment, this time giving them the real backstory on all of the pieces of pottery they'd admired earlier. They were both impressed, not just by Killian's pieces, but by how good Emma had become since their one class.

When her two friends left for the night, as she hugged them both goodbye, she was surprised to have Ruby whisper in her ear. "I'm really happy for you Emma, truly. You deserve this." Ruby never treated anything as less than a joking matter, so to have her friend be so sincere really touched her.

It was late when her friends left, but she texted Killian the second they walked out the door. She told them her friends knew. She felt like it was important that she let him know.

He showed up fifteen minutes later, just as she was about to crawl into bed. He looked sleepy, with his hair mussed, and wearing his pyjamas. She smiled at the sight. "What are you doing here? Not that I mind."

"Can't I just want to see my girl?" He asked, as he shuffled into the living room and pulled her into a hug. Her text informing him that she'd told her friends had woken him, and the news had made him happy. So happy that he wasn't going to be able to get back to sleep without seeing her. So he did the only thing he could think of. He got in his car and drove over to her house.

She rested her head on his chest and slipped her arms around his waist before answering. "I think that's allowable." She then stepped back, leading him into her bedroom.

"Come on, sleepyhead. Let's get you put to bed." He yawned, and she realized just how late it was. He probably shouldn't have even driven.

She tucked him in and crawled in, preparing to curl up, head on his chest. "Swan." She lifted her head up a little, looking at his face. He yawned. "I'm glad you told your friends." He rolled over on his side, making it impossible for her to put her head on his chest as planned, so instead she spooned up against him, pulling his arm over her shoulder.

"Swan."

"Yes, Killian?"

"I love you."

Emma stilled slightly speechless at his semi-conscious admission. Did that really count that he said it while he was asleep? But what she realized as she thought about it was that it didn't matter. She loved him, and even if he did only say it because he was asleep, she could tell him back.

She rolled over, pushing him back, so that he woke up.

"Killian." He looked at her slightly stunned to be awake again, eyes wide open. "I love you too." She kissed him. As they broke apart, both breathed deeply and smiled. "Now go to sleep.

As Emma fell asleep that night, looking at her little blue bowl, she thought about the man next to her, and the feel of his hands on hers, and his blue eyes, and how much she loved him, and couldn't have been happier.

* * *

 _A/N 1 - Practice, practice, practice. So… criticism is welcome._

 _A/N 2 - This was inspired by JMo's Instagram of the coffee mug she threw. I was a fine arts major, and it's been years since I've thrown anything on a wheel but it's crazy relaxing. I was going to send it to someone as a prompt, but the more I thought about it the more concrete it got in my mind and I just ended up writing it myself. And yes, I have taken some liberties with the process._

 _A/N 3 - I kind of don't like how severe I sound on "Girls Nights Out" in the first bit. They are my versions of hell, but I don't mean to make it sound like I think other people shouldn't enjoy them._


	2. Chapter 2

Of course she had to roll her eyes as she heard the low whistle of her neighbor, Killian Jones, as he saw her leave for her "date." He was sitting out on the front steps of their shotgun bungalow, as usual. She swore he and Indy, his dog, spent more time on the front porch than they did inside his actual apartment.

"So, Swan, what's tonight's crime? Bank fraud? Breaking and entering? Do these men even appreciate that they get ten minutes of a date with you before you take them down?"

Not answering the second part of his question, she leaned down to pet Indy. "Oh the best kind; non payment of child support." Scratching behind Indy's ears she started talking to the dog. "Bet you'd be a good bail bonds dog, wouldn't you boy? I could let you chase them down for me. I'd never break another heal."

Killian watched longingly, half tempted to commit a crime just to get ten minutes of a date with her. He'd been living next to Emma Swan for two years and the closest he'd gotten was sharing takeout food while they watched TV. He took what he could get, but two years and he was desperate for more.

"Night, Killian."

"Night, Swan. Go get 'em."

"I always do."

* * *

Emma awoke the next morning half dead. If there was one perk to the paper thin walls of the bungalow it was that she could hear when Killian got up on Saturday mornings to go walk Indy. She could give herself 10 more minutes, and then meet him on the stoop, where without fail he would greet her with a much needed coffee and if she were truly lucky, doughnuts.

She threw on yoga pants and a sweatshirt, and went to wait for him on the steps.

Hearing Indy's bark, she looked up, and as usual, Killian took her breath away. How she ended up with sex walking for a next door neighbor she'll never know, but that was the only way to describe Killian Jones. He had let Indy off the leash and the dog was at her side in a flash. Scratching behind his ears, she waited for Killian to catch up.

Eying him as he got closer, she could make out the two take away cups of coffee, but no bag of doughnuts.

Her face fell.

"Morning, Swan. Here's your coffee." He sat down next to her.

"Thanks." She tried to hide the disappointment from her voice.

"2AM. You're usually not that late. Did you decide to spend some quality time with the fellow before you took him in? Lucky man."

She groaned. "I really don't want to talk about it. It was a rough night. He ran. Of course he ran. And then it took forever to process him at the jail. Almost not worth the bond."

She took a long sip of the coffee, trying to be grateful and not disappointed.

As she stared into the front yard in silence, she noticed him pull a paper bakery bag out of his pocket.

Her face lit up. It was the look he was hoping for.

"POCKET DOUGHNUTS."

"There's a glazed, a Boston Creme, and a sprinkles. One of them is for me please, Swan. You do have to share."

* * *

Emma got home from the grocery store and spotted Killian on the steps, but not alone. He was unlocking the door with a blonde woman at his side.

"This is a first," thought Emma. She slowed down as she walked up to the bungalow, in order to avoid an awkward situation of being introduced. Waiting until she was sure they were both inside, she finally made her way up to the door and into her apartment.

Having paper thin walls had its downside. As she unloaded her groceries she heard the muffled conversation, but more than that she heard the laughter. Both from Killian and his guest.

Really, she shouldn't have been surprised. What should have surprised her was that this was the first time. Killian was gorgeous and smart, funny, with a good job. Of course women would be throwing themselves at him. She should have been questioning why he'd never had female guests over before.

The more she listened, the more she started to think about where the night was heading. Never one to have much imagination, she wasn't sure what to do when it started running wild. Her mind took her to the inevitable conclusion of the night, and she knew, she KNEW she could not listen to Killian Jones have sex. Grabbing the bottle of wine she'd just purchased, she ran out the door, letting it slam behind her.

* * *

"This is all your fault you know?" Her friend Ruby was not going to beat around the bush.

"RUBY!"

"What, Mary Margaret? You know I'm right."

Emma felt like if she didn't interject soon, her two best friends would start talking about her as though she weren't even in the room.

"What do you mean it's all my fault? And wait, what do you mean, it?"

"You don't want to listen to Killian have sex. Why do you think that is?"

"He's my friend. It would be weird."

Ruby rolled her eyes.

"Emma, I'm going to tell you this one time. You. Like. Killian. You don't want to listen to him have sex because it will upset you that he's not having sex with you. You didn't want to meet the woman on the stoop because you didn't want to have to play nice with the woman who is going to make you share your toy. Honestly, I shouldn't have to explain this to you. But if I waited for you to get there it would take us another two years."

Mary Margaret was kinder in her explanation. "Emma, you don't let people in. Killian likes you. Well, he more than likes you. We can all see it, but you don't pay attention. You keep him at arm's length. Of course he was bound to get to the point where he needed to move on."

As she listened to Mary Margaret and Ruby, both the wine and the realization that her friends were speaking the truth started to hit her.

"Oh god, I'm going to be sick."

* * *

Emma returned home the next morning looking much worse for the wear. Wine had never been her friend when consuming large quantities. Nor had facing her feelings.

The last thing (or maybe the first thing) she wanted to see was Killian sitting on the stoop. She wasn't sure whether she should keep walking, or sit and join him. Deciding to face the inevitable, she sat.

"Hi."

"Morning, Swan. Another rough night?"

"You could say that. Mary Margaret, Ruby and I drank all the wine. It was not pretty. You?"

"I had a great night. My friend, Tink, from college was in town. Wanted to tell me she was getting married and ask if I would come to the wedding.

Emma did her best to school her reaction.

"Oh, that's great. Wait, that's great right? You're happy for her?"

"Yeah, she and her fiance, Pete, were my best mates. Couldn't be happier. About bloody time actually."

Emma sat silently. All of her anguish the previous night was for nothing. He hadn't brought a woman home. But now she couldn't escape her feelings. She knew there was more than friendship between her and her neighbor.

"So, Swan. What do you say. Will you be my date for the wedding? Or will I need to go out and hold up a liquor store, and then skip my court date for that to happen?"

Nothing had changed. He wasn't going to stop jokingly asking her out. But now she decided to listen to Ruby and take a chance. She smiled and knocked his shoulder with hers.

"I can't promise I won't try to arrest you 10 minutes into the ceremony, but we can give it a shot."

* * *

 _A/N - I wanted to write a short drabble from a prompt, but I couldn't find a prompt that inspired me. So I gave myself a prompt. Pocket doughnuts. (If you don't know what pocket doughnuts are, look it up!)_


	3. Chapter 3

**Oh! Darling**

It was the last night of the tour and Killian Jones was ready for it to be over. As he walked to the dressing room, he counted the hours until he would be on the plane to London. Back to where he could decompress, lick his wounds, and finally relax.

Months and months of touring, living out of suitcases, and one night stands had not been what he needed to mend his broken heart. He thought the tour would have been the perfect solution to finding out his girlfriend was married and had no intention of leaving her husband. He thought getting away from everything he knew, and everything they'd done together would help him heal. But it hadn't worked.

Now, just twelve hours from his flight, he was antsy. Three hours until show time. Two hours on stage. Five hours at the hotel. Two hours to the airport. Then home. Well, at least his own bed. Home was an elusive concept for him.

As he walked down the hallway he saw Jeff, his drummer approaching. Behind him, a blonde carrying a guitar. Probably the supporting act. He ducked into the dressing room to avoid talking to her.

The originally booked opening act had been forced to cancel the last seven nights of the tour due to visa issues, and management decided to bring in local acts for each night of the last leg. It was Killian's biggest nightmare. Every night having to meet and greet with a new set of musicians, all wanting to suck up to him, telling him how great he was, hoping to parlay one night of opening into more.

Really, thinking back to his early days, he couldn't blame them. He just wasn't in the mood.

He waited just inside the door for Jeff, and that's when he truly saw her as she passed. She was a goddess. She looked down as she walked by, almost as if she were too shy to meet his eyes, but that couldn't stop him from observing her. Porcelain skin, green eyes, and the most beautiful hair he'd ever seen.

He grabbed the doorframe, and leaned out backwards in order to watch her walk away, down the hallway. Of course Jeff noticed.

"Killian, no."

"Who is she?"

"That's Emma Nolan of Swan's Song. They're opening for us tonight. And like I said, no."

Killian grunted, and threw himself down on the couch. Maybe Jeff was right. Twelve hours until the airport. He put his arm over his eyes, and tried to catch a few minutes of sleep until he needed to go out on stage.

His attempt at sleep was cut short the second he heard the opening act's music piped in through the speakers to the dressing room. Her voice was magical. It was as though she was speaking directly to him, the lyrics cutting through his months of pain and loneliness. He needed to see her; needed to watch as she sang.

He found his way to the side of the stage, and as he watched from the wing he began to find solace in her music. His soul was being pieced together with every word. As he listened, it wasn't just his pain that was coming to light. With every word and inflection of her voice, he heard the story she was telling, of hurt, pain, and abandonment. He wanted to grab her and tell her he would be different. He would never fail her the way she'd been failed before. It was what he owed her as he knew she would be the one to make him whole again.

His thoughts were broken as she spoke to the crowd.

"You guys can't see this, but Killian Jones," she turned and eyed him up and down, "is standing off to the site of the stage, just staring. He's leaned up against the wall, all in his black leather and eyeliner, just appraising me. As if I weren't nervous enough being out here to play for all of you already. Let's see if he enjoys this next one."

He smirked, and bowed, and stepped into the shadows, hoping it was far enough back that he would no longer be a distraction. He wouldn't be able to leave the stage, to stop watching her if he tried. She was his siren.

* * *

He was always in his element out on stage. From the second he could see the crowd he connected, and played them like a second instrument. The Hollywood Bowl was not their largest crowd, but it was an amazing venue. He looked out on the sea of faces and loved watching as they sang his words along with him, and danced with the music.

But tonight he was distracted. Tonight he couldn't help but watch to see if a flash of gold appeared at the side of the stage. He hoped she'd come watch them perform.

It wasn't until the third song that he noticed. She was standing where he shouldn't have been able to see her, back in the shadowy recesses he'd retreated to after she'd called him out. But she had no idea how hard he'd be looking for her.

"Good evening Los Angeles." He paused to allow the cheers from the crowd. "How are we all doing out there tonight?" Another pause for their response. He fed off of their energy. This, this right here fueled him when everything was shit in his life. And tonight it was urging him on to more.

"Such a beautiful night. Such a beautiful venue. And such a beautiful voice to start your evening. Did you all enjoy Swan's Song?" He hoped he received a cheer. This was a bit of a gamble, but crowds never let him down. They would cheer for just about anything, and he was sure anyone who had been listening would have appreciated the opening music. The crowd didn't fail him.

"I believe I owe the lady an apology for flustering her earlier. Maybe I should bring her out and apologize on stage?" He quirked an eyebrow, and the crowd was putty in his hands.

He turned to where he knew she was standing. "How 'bout it, Swan? Care to join me out here. Maybe we can sing together?"

The crowd was insane by this point, and he saw Emma walking towards him sheepishly, as though she couldn't believe this was happening. As she finally got close enough, he could see the blush rise on her face.

He stepped towards Emma, placing his hand on her waist as he whispered the song in her ear. Only moving enough away to see her face, he silently questioned whether she knew it. Her smile was answer enough. He wanted to stay in the moment, to ask if she felt the current running through his hand, from her body to his. But there were seventeen thousand sets of eyes on them, and it was time to get to work.

He turned back to the band, loathe to let go of her.

"Okay boys, you know this one. Jump in when you've got it. Swan, sing along as you feel appropriate."

Two words in everyone knew it. Everyone knows the Beatles. And he and Emma handled the song as though they'd been singing together their entire lives, their voices blending effortlessly.

 _Oh! Darling, please believe me_

 _I'll never do you no harm_

 _Believe me when I tell you_

 _I'll never do you no harm_

 _Oh! Darling, if you leave me_

 _I'll never make it alone_

 _Believe me when I beg you, ooh_

 _Don't ever leave me alone_

As soon as they finished, he turned to her grinning madly, taking her hand and gesturing as though she should take a bow.

"Ladies and gentlemen, Emma Nolan of Swan's Song." She was beet red, and beautiful.

Away from the microphone, he turned to her and said, "I don't know about you, Swan, but I think we make quite the team." A smile was her only reply.

She took a few seconds, shaking the hands of each of the band members, and ran off stage.

Killian spent the rest of the show on a high. He couldn't wait until he was finished and could head backstage to the afterparty and find her, talk to her, start getting to know her. Five hours had changed everything. There was no way he was getting on his flight to London.

As soon as the last note of the encore finished, he put his guitar down and ran off stage, back to the dressing room, stripping out of his stage get up before he went to find his siren. He would have liked to have showered, to have washed the sweat of the stage and the performance off, but didn't want to waste any more time than was absolutely necessary. Grabbing a clean pair of jeans and a t-shirt, feeling much more like himself, he changed and headed towards the after party.

Running at full tilt through the back halls of the venue, he slowed before entering the green room not wanting to look too anxious. He was ready to walk in, claim her, steer her to a dark corner, and spend the rest of his life getting to know her. Ready to lay himself bare for her in exchange.

As he entered the room, he looked around and found only her band, no Swan. They all smiled when they saw him, as though they could read him, knowing exactly why his face had fallen as soon as he saw only them.

It was her drummer who spoke first. "She's gone. She never stays for this. I'm Ruby. This is Mary Margaret. That's David. And you're smitten."

There was no denying it. "I'm not sure smitten is quite the right word, lass. But yes, something like that."

The petite brunette, Mary Margaret, had been eyeing him warily. "Why did you choose that song?"

"It felt right."

"Did you mean it?" This time it was the man asking. These three had assembled to protect her, and he was glad she had defenders.

"Every word of it."

"But you're heading back to London?"

"Not a chance. Not after meeting her."

Mary Margaret broke out into a smile. "So, if I were to tell you where you could find her…" she trailed off, not completing the thought.

"I'd go fight for what I want."

* * *

Emma sat at a booth at the diner. It was her post show ritual. Eggs, bacon, potatoes, hot chocolate. More food than she could ever finish. Enough to ensure that once she was able to finally sleep after the post-show high, hunger wouldn't wake her the next morning.

After tonight's show, she knew she should be concentrating on the future of the band. Things were going to change for them. The crowd had been huge. And they had been responsive. They weren't just being polite while they waited for Killian Jones. They had enjoyed her music.

But that wasn't what was preoccupying her mind.

She couldn't stop thinking of the dark hair and blue eyes of Killian Jones. The way their voices sounded as they harmonized. The feel of his hand at her waist. For once, she wanted nothing more than to stay and go to the crappy after party. To drink too much alcohol. To make out with him and not think of what would come after. But she knew that would be a mistake. She knew one drunken night with him would ruin her forever.

She sat and picked at her food, smile on her face as she let herself daydream. Just because she couldn't let it happen didn't mean she couldn't imagine it.

She was startled out of her reverie by a man sliding into the booth across from her. As soon as she looked up, she saw those same blue eyes she had been imagining looking at her.

"What are you doing here?" She tried to play it off. She tried to act as though he wasn't affecting her. She was failing.

He flashed her a wide smile. "Well love, I do believe we made each other some promises tonight, and I intend to start making good on them immediately."

She eyed him warily. "Are you in the habit of hitting on every woman you sing with?"

"I've only ever sung with one other woman, love. It did not end well but I'm prepared to try again."

Studying the man across from her, she could hear the truth in his words. She recognized something familiar in him; something she saw in herself.

Taking a chance on her future, she passed him a fork.

* * *

A/N - special thanks to kat2609 over at tumblr for looking this over and pushing to make it better! Also, if you want to see what the Hollywood Bowl looks like, watch 'Some Kind of Wonderul.' It's the place Keith has lit up for his date with Amanda. I was there Sat night for a concert and inspiration struck!


	4. Chapter 4

Coffee, coffee, coffee

He groaned silently as he listened to the tinny voice drone over the phone's speaker. The company's management staff were all seated at the conference table, all seeming to be on the verge of falling asleep, listening to the mandatory financial tracking software seminar. The material alone would be considered a fresh hell. At 7AM on a Monday morning he was sure this was venturing into 7th circle territory.

Whoever had thought to bring the bagels had not been kind enough to spring for a carafe of coffee, and they'd all gotten to work to find the break room's coffee pot had been cracked, with a note from the cleaning lady that she was terribly sorry. One woman's unfortunate accident on a Friday night had caused the misery of so many. Not that the office coffee was anything more than swill, but the nearby coffee shop didn't open until 8, and any of them would have taken whatever they could have gotten.

When he arrived, he made sure to get the seat next to her, the blonde currently on his left. He purposefully picked this side so he could stare at her profile while also pretending he was paying attention to the presentation. She fascinated him, and he wanted nothing more than to get to know her better. Try as he might, he managed to do nothing more than the grown up equivalent of pulling on her pigtails. Somedays she was all business, and shut him down, and other days she seemed almost open to his flirtations. He expected today to be the former. Without caffeine it seemed no one in the room was in the mood for any shenanigans, but that wouldn't stop him from trying.

Distracting her today would have the added benefit of keeping him awake. As the first slide came up on the powerpoint, he poked her. "What year was that photo taken? My grandmother had smaller computers than the one that man is using?" She shushed him, but he saw the slight pull at the side of her lip. Maybe today was a day for some banter and teasing. It would absolutely be worth the death stares he'd receive from their boss.

As they rolled into the 8AM hour of the training, there was a quiet knock at the glass conference room door, and they all looked up to see one of their coworkers pointing at Emma and then pointing to the cup of coffee she held in her hand. Emma waved her in with a tight lipped smile, as though to apologize to the room for receiving what she knew they all were dying for.

Emma took a long drag on the drink, and smiled to herself as she felt the hot liquid course through her veins. She could do it; she could make it through the next two hours, she was silently telling herself as she felt a poke in her shoulder and turned to the man she was trying so hard to ignore.

"I'll sell you half my soul for two good sips from your cup, Swan. Please. I'm dying."

Quietly she whispered back, "and what do I want with half your soul, Jones?"

"Lunch then. I'll buy you lunch."

"Do I have to eat it with you?

"I'd prefer it that way."

It was just then that they were shushed, and received a glare from the owner of the company, the woman who was insisting that they switch to this software and had set the training. Or as Jones had spent the morning calling her, Satan.

Emma silently slid her cup towards Jones, with a barely perceptible nod, and he grabbed at the cup as though his life depended on it. Watching out of the corner of her eye as Jones took a massive gulp, she sat with a tight lipped smirk and tried to stifle her laugh. He immediately was sputtering and choking on the hot beverage. It took him almost a full minute, coughing and clearing his throat before his composure was fully regained.

She refocused her attention on the presentation, hoping she hadn't missed anything too important during the exchange, but noticed a piece of paper being slipped under the crook of her arm. She saw, in Jones' beautiful script, a note.

"Swan, that was not coffee. Warn a man when you're about to kill him with what I can only assume is supposed to cause some sort of diabetic coma."

She picked up her pen, and quickly wrote back, lamenting that her writing was nowhere as beautiful as his.

"I never said it was coffee. And you still owe me lunch."

* * *

A/N - sorry if you've read this before. It was posted by itself and I decided to move it into the drabble story and delete it from its other location. A few items were tweaked in the move.


	5. Chapter 5

**"I'm quite alright with that, love."**

* * *

"You can't tell me what I can and can't get tattooed." she yelled at him.

"But I can, believe me, tell you that I will not be the one to do it," he spit right back at her.

Emma, his oldest friend, on the heels of a heartbreak, was a textbook case of wanting a tattoo for all the wrong reasons. He looked at his rolled down sleeve, thinking about the regret he felt every time he saw his "lost love" tattoo on his arm. He would never do it, not for Emma, not for anyone.

"Jones, it's my body."

"And it's my work. I'll not have you looking at that for the rest of your life and cursing me when you realize it's a bloody mistake."

She stomped out of the shop, yelling over her shoulder. "Fine, just because you won't do it doesn't mean I can't find someone else who will."

"I'm quite alright with that, love."

* * *

A year later, when she sat in his lap, and proposed a different option for her first tattoo, he quite speedily agreed.

After he finished, he kissed her.

"There, now it's never coming off," she said.

They both looked down at the circle of white around her left ring finger, in lieu of a wedding band and smiled.

"I'm quite alright with that, love."


	6. Chapter 6

The door binged indicating a new customer had entered the store. He didn't bother to look up. He never did. He didn't watch as they perused the shelves looking for whatever late night items couldn't wait until the light of day. Condoms, cold medicine, unfortunate food choices. He didn't care. What was he going to do anyway? No one expected much from the one-handed guy willing to work the night shift. He kept his nose buried in his book. They could rob him blind as long as they let him read.

He never looked up until until they plunked their items on the counter and he couldn't avoid his job of ringing them up.

Tonight as his eyes traveled up from the pint of rocky road on the counter to the knock out blonde, he wished he'd looked up sooner. Dressed to kill and bloody gorgeous. Something didn't compute. How was it that a woman dressed like that, looking like her, possibly going home alone?

"Bad date?"

"They always are," she answered enigmatically with a smile.

As he watched her walk out the door, he realized that for the first time in months he wanted to know more. To connect with someone. His therapist would be so pleased.

* * *

The second time she came in he'd be lying if he said he hadn't been hoping for her reappearance. He found himself accidentally greeting customers as he looked up every time the bell rang.

He watched as she scanned the junk food aisle trying to make up her mind. 6 inch heels and a leather dress, yet she finally lights up when her eyes land on sour cream and onion Pringles. Those chips were what was going to make her night.

Grabbing a Coke from the cooler next to the register she handed him her debit card. Emma Swan. He filed that piece of information away for later.

"Another bad date?"

"I told you, they always are," she said with a smile.

* * *

Working the night shift had been the perfect job for Killian Jones. It had given him all the time he wanted to read. That was all he cared about until she became a regular customer.

He never got tired of commenting on her midnight snack choices. Day old bear claw and a cold bottled frappuccino? Snickers bars and Gatorade? Pop Tarts, so many pop tarts.

"Swan, I really must insist you take better care of yourself. Or at least go on fewer dates. The amount of junk food you're consuming is alarming."

"Put your nose back in your book Killian and give me my change," she teased, already opening up the foil Pop-Tart wrapper.

Some nights she'd ask about what he was reading. Some nights she'd buy a scratch off lottery ticket, and they'd spend a few minutes discussing wild dreams for spending boatloads of money.

But she would always leave; walking home alone with her junk food. Leaving him quite bereft and unsatisfied with the worlds between his pages.

* * *

One night he could take it no longer.

She'd come up to the counter with hot chocolate from the machine, a bag of fritos, and asked for a tiny bottle of fireball.

"Go on a date with me?" It came out almost as a command.

"What?"

"Sorry. Please, Emma, would you go on a date with me? I can promise that at the end of a date with me you will not find yourself buying abominable food at midnight at this convenience store."

She tried to play it off as though he was not serious. "Killian, they're not real dates," she explained. 'I'm a bail bonds person. I set up dates with the skips online then a few minutes into the date I haul them back into jail. The outfit helps ensure I get the cuffs on them before they run. The junk food is a treat for a job well done."

It took him a minute to adjust to the new information, but only a moment. Leaning forward he smiled and quirked an eyebrow. "It still stands. You should go on a date with me. I promise you'd enjoy it."

She rolled her eyes. "Sorry, I don't date."

She grabbed her food and walked out the door, walked out of his life.

* * *

He smiled as he saw Emma come in from the rain. Really, he shouldn't be smiling at her misfortune, but he couldn't help but think he was seeing the real Emma for the first time. Boots, flannel shirt, red leather jacket. Completely soaked and seemingly in a foul mood.

He knew she'd been avoiding him, as she hadn't been in during his shift in weeks. He'd switched with a coworker for tonight, and it was just his luck she'd walked in.

Bypassing the junk food, she walked straight up to Killian and asked for a bottle of Jack Daniel's.

"So, no date? Dare I hope you came out in the rain just to get a bottle of whiskey from me?"

"No date. Stake out. He ran. I ran. He was faster. Tonight, I drink." _Every night I drink_ , he thought to himself.

His replacement walked in through the door at just that second, giving Killian the opportunity he needed.

"Let me walk you home. I've got an umbrella." She tried to protest, but he'd stashed her bottle of whiskey in his pocket, and grabbed his umbrella from under the counter.

They walked silently, shoulder pressed to shoulder. He was oblivious to the rain falling on them due to the too small shelter.

As they reached Emma's building, she slowed, turning to face Killian.

"This is me."

She held the umbrella over him, with just enough to keep the rain from falling on her face.

"Love, i'm going to ask, since I may never get another chance. I know you've been avoiding me, and you're not going to come in again. Please, go out with me."

She sighed and closed her eyes.

"I can't." She said it so quietly he almost missed it.

"Is it because I work at a convenience store? Because I assure you, that is temporary."

She smiled. "No," she replied, finally looking up.

He smiled back, reaching out for her hand and lacing his fingers through hers. "Is it because I only have one hand? Because that, unfortunately, is not temporary."

She almost dropped the umbrella, as she'd reached out to run her hand across his cheek.

"No, of course not."

She hung her head, but it didn't keep him from noticing the tears mixing with the raindrops.

"Then, please. Help me understand. This feels like something, Emma. I can't ignore that."

She rested her forehead on his chest, clutching their joined hands to her breast.

"It's not you. Really. It's me." He didn't respond, waiting on some further explanation. "I'm broken."

He grunted, the bitterness easily detectable. " _You're_ broken?" He let go of her hand to tilt her chin up so she was forced to look at him. "You're telling the one handed man working at the convenience store that you're broken?"

She turned her face away. "It's better this way, Killian."

"And I don't get any say in the matter?"

She looked up at him, and after a moment scanning his face she grabbed the collar of his shirt, rose up on her toes and pressed herself, lips to knees, into him. It took him a split second to adjust to her complete reversal, but nature quickly took over for him. His arm snaked around her waist, while his hand reached up, cupping the back of her head as he tilted his mouth to more fully explore her lips. He had no intention of letting go.

They were both startled out of the embrace as the umbrella clattered to the ground, having lost its perch between their bodies.

Ignoring the rain that fell, they stood silently neither moving away. Killian ran his thumb across her lips, taking in every inch of her face. He wanted to remember this moment forever.

"Emma," he said simply as they stood with their foreheads pressed together. "Take a chance on this, please. I know that we don't know each other, but trust me, this is something." She sighed, and leaned further into him.

In a tiny voice he heard a barely audible "okay" and a smile spread across his face.

"Okay? You'll go on a date with me?"

"One date."

"For starters, one date." He said smiling, before leaning down to kiss her again.

When she pulled away, she walked up the steps to her building. "Tomorrow night. Eight o'clock."

"I'll be here."

He watched as she unlocked the door and then called out, "Swan, I've got your whiskey."

She turned and smiled. "I don't think I'll be needing it tonight."

As he walked away he realized that for the first time since his accident he wouldn't need a drink either.


	7. Chapter 7

**The Perfect Costume**

* * *

Emma stood in the corner, thinking that she was wearing the perfect costume. Beer in one hand, phone in the other, completely surrounded by a shower curtain. Thank you Karate Kid for the idea. A shower curtain, hula hoop, PVC piping, a whole roll of duct tape and two hours later she had a costume. Sure she was going to hear it from her later, but for once she was enjoying herself at Ruby's 'costume mandatory' Halloween party.

That enjoyment was short-lived when she saw a hook pull back the curtain, and a leather clad pirate stepped into her sanctuary. Damn the hula hoop for allowing room for two.

"Swan, you cannot possibly tell me that your phone is better company than meself."

"Oh, I'm pretty sure I can."

"I don't even need the Emma Swan lie detector to know that's a lie."

Rolling her eyes she tried to dismiss him. "Okay, Captain Hook. Now go away."

He completely ignored her. "Next year you should come as Tinkerbell or maybe Wendy. We can do a couple's costume."

"Have you ever even read the book? Captain Hook would NEVER be a couple with Wendy or Tinkerbell."

"So maybe we should do something a bit more modern? Khal Drogo and Khaleesi? I'd enjoy being your sun and stars. And you've certainly the hair to be Khaleesi" He reached out to stroke his hand through one of her long blonde tresses. She tried moving back, unsuccessfully. The costume didn't really allow for a retreat.

"Right, because you and I will totally be doing a couple's costume next year."

He went silent.

"Why do you always do that?" he asked. He was serious and studying her face.

"Do what?

"Retreat. Try to act like I don't mean what I say."

"When are you ever serious, Killian? You're Captain Innuendo."

"I'm always serious when it comes to you, Emma. I like you. I've just spent so many years being rebuffed. I think the innuendo might be how I protect myself now."

Emma was surprised. This was the most open she'd ever seen him. And her lie detector was silent. She'd spent so long assuming Killian was kidding when he hit on her, figuring it was all part of a joke. She'd never thought he was serious. One look at him now had her reevaluating years of interactions.

He took his chance, leaning down to place a kiss on her lips.

She let her beer bottle fall to the floor, ignoring the clattering and hoping the music disguised the sound. Her arms went around the pirate's neck, and she deepened the kiss. It was Killian who steered them toward the wall, not caring about who they may have run over, until Emma's was pinned against the bricks, and their bodies were pressed fully together. Ruby would have zero complaints about Emma's costume if she were to see the situation inside now.

She broke away to catch her breath. "So, next year Khaleesi and Khal Drogo?" she said as soon as her breathing evened out. She felt Killian smile against her ear. His hand pulled down the front of her shirt, exposing the tops of her breasts, and he placed kisses down her neck and down her chest, finally reaching his goal.

He heard her moan as his lips grazed the swells of her breasts.

"Whatever you wish, Moon of My Life."

Suddenly Emma was very glad for the privacy the curtain was providing. Not for the first time that night, Emma reflected that she had selected the perfect costume.


	8. Chapter 8

**Kiss Cam**

* * *

"Are you kidding me?" he screamed.

She knew she was going to get a reaction out of her best friend when she bought him playoff tickets as a last minute birthday present, but she didn't anticipate how crazy he was going to go. The look on his face alone was worth every penny she'd paid. She only wished she had a video camera to catch the loud, high-pitched shrieks that had come with it. He never would have lived it down.

Killian pulled her in for a hug, picking her up and nearly crushing her lungs. "Oh man. We're going to have the best time tonight. When we win, not if, we're going to have the Stanley cup, here, for the first time. Swan, this is amazing. I owe you forever. All the hot chocolate you can drink tonight."

She was taken aback. "Wait, I thought you'd take David. I even checked. He's available to go. He's expecting you to call."

"Oh, no. You're coming with me. It's my birthday. You. Me. Hockey. The playoffs. We're going to win this thing. Best night ever."

* * *

True to his word, he'd gotten her hot chocolate as soon as they'd entered the area. Hot chocolate, chicken fingers, nachos, and beer. She'd tried to pay, as it was his birthday, but he insisted. He knew how much the tickets must have cost. When they got to the seats he had another minor flip out.

"Bloody hell, Swan, these seats are phenomenal. How? I mean, besides the cost. How did you even get them?"

"Let's just say one of the cops at the station owed me big time. Yes, they were expensive, but he kind of didn't have a choice but to sell them to me. I knew you'd love them." She didn't tell Killian that she now owed the cop in question big time, but it was a small price to pay to make her best friend this happy. "Now explain the game to me."

He looked at her, slightly incredulous.

"Are you trying to tell me that for as many nights as we've sat on the couch watching the game that you've never picked up the rules?"

It was true. As friends, many of their hangouts had included watching the hockey games on TV. Killian refused to miss any of his team's televised matches, but Emma completely tuned them out. She'd read a book, or browse the internet on her phone. Somehow over the years she'd never once actually paid attention to the game. It was always more about time spent with her best friend than what they did.

"It's not my thing, Killian. It's your thing. Are you telling me you pay attention when we watch Project Runway? Now, explain! I don't want to be lost."

Shaking his head at her, he handed over his beer and excused himself. "Eat your chicken tenders. Don't drink my beer. I'll be right back." Shaking her head at him, she pulled out her phone and found an article on the rules of hockey as she ate, waiting for his return. The arena was starting to fill up, and she noticed it was also a little chilly. She hadn't thought about that. She'd been here plenty of times for concerts, but never when the floor twenty feet in front of her had been turned into a solid block of ice.

Just as she finished her food, and as she was tucking her phone back into her pocket, Killian returned with a black jersey in his hands.

"Here, now you can start by at least _looking_ the part." She shook it out and laughed. It was an exact match to the jersey he was wearing, down to the number and name of his favorite player. She quickly donned it, pulling her hair out and letting it settle down her back.

Waiting on the game to start, Killian elaborated on the rules of the game, supplementing Emma's reading. Once the game was in full swing, she followed his lead on when to sit, stand, cheer and boo. Surprisingly, she was enjoying herself. Freezing, but having fun. It didn't take Killian too long to notice her shivering.

"Sorry, love. I should have warned you it would be chilly. Come here." He pulled her over to his side, and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. She sighed as she nestled closer. It was the moments like these that she always had to remind herself that he was just her best friend. She let it run through her head like a mantra. ' _He's just my best friend. He's just my best friend.'_ She always thought that if she said it to herself enough that maybe someday she'd start to believe it.

She was startled out of her thoughts by him jumping up to cheer. The moment of excitement was short lived, and he was sitting again before she could stand to join him. He immediately pulled her back to his side, arm around her shoulders. ' _He's just my best friend.'_

As they were about to enter the third period, the big screen lit up with the Kiss Cam. Emma's eyes blew wide open. It was as though she knew what was going to happen.

As soon as she saw the monitors light up with their faces she panicked. As many times as she had imagined kissing her best friend, and in every scenario possible, she was not prepared for it to ever happen. She was not sure she'd be able to hide how much she wanted this. Would she be able to play it off as just a kiss for the camera?

He turned to her ready to satisfy the crowds, but she continued to stare at the two of them on the screen. She heard the cheering of the arena, and Killian next to her. "Come on, Swan."

As she looked at the screen, she saw what the rest of the arena must have. They looked every bit the couple. Matching jerseys, his arm thrown around her shoulder, and her nestled into his side. If she ignored the look on her face, she could see the look on his. He was focused solely on her, not the camera, not the crowd. On her. He looked like he wanted this. Maybe he'd been harboring the same feelings she had. The Kiss Cam would wait only so long.

"Swan, they're waiting!"

She turned to him and grabbed the front of his jersey and pulled him towards her. He wasn't expecting the kiss to be so forceful, but he adjusted in no time. The arm already around her shoulder tightened, and his hand reached up to brush across her cheek. Heads tilted, lips parted, tongues searched out their partners. It was the kind of kiss the crowd went wild for. The camera eventually moved on, but Killian and Emma had no idea. They were the only two people in the world at that moment, despite being in a crowd of 18,000. When the Kiss Cam returned to them a few minutes later, the crowd erupted again at seeing the two still passionately embraced. It was the cheers of their neighbors that brought them back to reality, and they looked up at the camera quite sheepishly. As she saw the two of them up on the screen now, she noticed that Killian looked happier than she'd ever seen him. Happier even than when he'd opened the tickets. She couldn't wipe the grin off of her own face if she tried.

She turned and placed a kiss on his cheek, snuggling back into his side. The game was starting back up, and they could talk about this later. Right now she knew she didn't need to worry. He felt the same way.

* * *

Later that night, after the game was won, he swept her up into his arms and kissed her again.

"Swan, thank you for a birthday I'll never forget."

"I guess it's not every birthday your team wins the championship?"

"It's not every birthday that my best friend, the woman I'm madly in love with, buys me the most insanely amazing birthday present, and then proceeds to kiss me as though her life depended on it. I need to go find the person operating that Kiss Cam and thank them."

Emma was stunned. "Madly in love with me?"

He smiled and laughed. "Yes love, madly."

"But, you've never said anything."

"Well, Swan. Based on that kiss tonight, I'm going to say that makes two of us." He quirked an eyebrow up at her as he said it.

She turned red and pressed her face into his chest. Their neighbors chuckled at them as they passed to leave.

She looked up and swept her hands over the front of his jersey. "I'm really glad you didn't ask David to come with you."

"So am I, love. So am I."


	9. Chapter 9

**The only one who didn't know, love, was you.**

Secret dating (kind of!) AU from a prompt. Thanks to kat2609 at tumblr for the beta! No actual smut, but this one's a little saucier than I usually write. Consider yourself warned. 8,000 words.

* * *

In a sleepy daze, Emma registered the very male body pressed to her back. As she took stock of her situation, she felt the arm draped over her side, and the wrist lazily caressing the underside of her breast.

The fact that it was a wrist, not a hand, was all she needed to know about just exactly who it was pressed up against her.

"Go back to sleep, Swan. I'll ravish you again at a more human hour." She felt scruff against her skin as a kiss was pressed into her shoulder.

Sleep was now going to be impossible as she started thinking over the events that led up to her sharing a bed with Killian Jones.

-/-

 _The evening started innocently enough. Their company's holiday party was being held at the swanky downtown hotel they had just finished renovating. As a treat to the employees, rooms had been rented out for everyone so they could truly enjoy the fruits of their labors. A lavish dinner. An open bar. A live band. Dancing. All a recipe for a good time, until she found herself waiting for an elevator with the bane of her existence, Killian Jones. No one knew how to get under her skin more than he did, and with a little bit of alcohol coursing through their veins, the tempers flared._

Come morning, she couldn't remember what started the argument. But, as she lay in bed with his arms wrapped around her, every inch of her skin aware that there was absolutely nothing separating them, she remembered the two of them yelling at each other in the newly mirrored elevator bank. Panic rose. Had they been seen? There had been some fights in the office that had resulted in them being brought in before HR for lectures about "proper office behavior." This surely would result in another visit to Mr. Hopper. And more paperwork.

At least she was sure no one saw what happened when they entered the elevator.

 _The charged emotions that had resulted in the fight completely changed course the second the doors closed. A momentary detente and the next thing she knew he'd pressed her up against the stone clad wall, brass handrail digging into her back, his arms against the walls on either side of her, pinning her there. The heat she saw in his eyes before he crushed his lips against hers seared every nerve in her body. Her hands instinctively found his chest, feeling the hard muscles beneath his shirt and jacket. She grabbed his tie and pulled him closer, as impossible as it was._

 _The signal dinged indicating the doors were about to open all too quickly for both their liking. Separating to opposite sides of the cab and both trying to settle their expressions, they prepared themselves for any new riders to join._

 _Killian took the opportunity to press the button for his floor, shooting Emma an arched look._

 _When the doors to the elevator opened, a puzzled couple outside asked, "Down?" Both shook their heads. "Up." The doors closed, and they were in each other's arms again, lips on skin, hands roaming._

 _This time when the indicator binged, Killian peeked out of the doors, checking to see if anyone was in the hallway. Seeing the coast was clear she took his elbow and he led her quickly down the hall, fumbling in his pocket for the key. She stood behind him, her heels evening their heights, kissing the back of his neck and running her hands over his hips as he tried to open the door._

 _As they stepped into the room, the chill of the air caused goosebumps to rise over Emma's skin, and she shivered slightly. Killian ran his hand and wrist down her arms, appreciating the absolute smoothness of her skin. His head was tilted towards hers, eyes closed, breathing in her scent._

 _She took this time to study his face. She'd always known he was gorgeous, but she'd never let herself appreciate it. She'd always let his cockiness get in the way. Right now all she could see was the scar on his cheek she'd never noticed, the perfect rose of his lips, and the way his long eyelashes were resting on his cheeks. Couple the perfection of his face with the way his body felt under her hands, and the recent discovery of their physical chemistry and Emma knew there was no way she was leaving this room tonight._

 _-/-_

She rolled over to face him. She knew he was awake, just not opening his eyes.

"Swan, I told you, I'd ravish you again, just let a man sleep."

"Jones, we need to talk about this."

He groaned in exasperation and rolled onto his back, flinging his arm over his eyes. "Of fucking course we do," he muttered under his breath. "Okay, Swan. What exactly do you need to say."

What he heard was not at all what he was expecting.

"So, last night was amazing."

He raised his arm from his face, and his eyes flew open. He side-eyed her, not saying anything, waiting for her to continue.

"Look, I don't date. You're not seeing anyone. That was too good to be just a one time thing."

"For once you and I absolutely agree." He rolled to his side to face her, letting his wrist caress her side and settle on her hip. She quivered at his touch. She knew what he could do with that wrist. How good he could make her feel. "What exactly do you propose?"

Typically Emma Swan was not shy about letting her partners know what she wanted from them, but in those situations she would never have to see them again. This was different. This was Killian Jones. Their lives were tangled and intertwined. They worked together. Her best friend was married to his best friend. If this all went south, there was no way to walk away, not completely. But it couldn't be any worse than it already was, so she took a chance.

"Well, Killian," she made a point to use his name in lieu of Jones, "I think we're both adult enough to acknowledge that we have physical needs. I take care of yours. You help me with mine."

"Mmmm, I like the sound of that, Swan." He pushed her back against the bed, and lowered himself on top her her, pressing kisses into neck, then chest, and down to her breasts. "I have needs, Swan. I have needs right now." Emma said nothing as her breathing sped up, deciding they could easily hash out the details of their agreement later. Much, much later.

* * *

Emma got to work early on Monday morning, eager to listen in as the people around her rolled in and started talking about any holiday party gossip. Head ducked down in her cube, but with her ears alert, she was relieved that so far none of the conversations so far included the names "Killian Jones" or "Emma Swan." She'd also yet to receive any emails from HR.

She didn't notice as her best friend walked in and sat down, too intent on listening to a story about Leroy from the model shop getting drunk and taking over the band's microphone. That was something she wanted to hear all about later, and perhaps see the video.

"Morning, Emma. David and I missed you at breakfast on Sunday. You said you were going to join us. What happened? You should see the the way the Hamilton Room turned out. It's gorgeous in the morning."

"Mm, sorry about that. I was so beat and my phone died. I slept right through. Plus, those beds were so comfortable." Emma knew this was going to be Mary Margaret's first question, and had the lie prepared.

"Yeah, Killian said the same thing."

"Oh, he was coming too?"

"Yeah, since we'd already cancelled Sunday dinner. But he ended up meeting David for lunch later."

Emma was relieved when Mary Margaret let all talk of the weekend drop, and let her get to work. Just because they'd had one project finish succesfully didn't mean there weren't a stack of items waiting for her attention.

She had to roll her eyes when at 4PM a message popped up on on her computer through the intra-office message system.

 _KJONES: Needs, Swan!_

She promptly deleted the message, and pulled out her phone to text a reply. She'd been caught up in more group texts with Jones, Mary Margaret, and David than she'd care to remember, but thanked her lucky stars she had his number now.

 _ES: Killian, you know they read our messages.  
_ _KJ: You're paranoid. But what about it? I have needs.  
_ _ES: Most definitely not at work. Never at work.  
_ _KJ: I didn't mean at work, Swan. After. Your place or mine?_

Emma paused. She hadn't thought about that. They still hadn't worked out the logistics. The only people she'd ever let into her apartment were Mary Margaret and David. Was she really going to let Killian Jones come over? Was she ready to see where he lived? Hotels would get expensive, fast. Biting the bullet, she decided that if they were really going to do this, it should be on home territory. Maybe it would give her the upper hand if she needed it.

 _ES: Mine. 710 Bond Street. Apt. 22. I'll be home after 6._

She was not expecting to get a winking emoticon as the response, but given what that man did with his eyebrows she shouldn't have been surprised.

* * *

Killian Jones was frankly stunned by everything concerning Emma Swan in the past 24 hours. They'd met 6 years earlier when he'd moved to Boston from England, to work for the large architectural firm that recruited him from across the pond. That had been what set their adversarial relationship off right from the start. He'd found out she'd worked her ass, and what a wonderful ass it was, off to get the job, and from her point of view, he'd just waltzed in and was the owner's golden boy.

She had no idea what he'd been through before that, and had never taken the opportunity to find out.

They fought over everything. Every new project was a battle to see who would be assigned. Every new pitch was a competition to see who could win the job for the firm. It was only the fact that both of them were damn good at their jobs that had kept them from being fired for the tension they caused in the office.

How Mary Margaret and David Nolan had managed to keep Sunday dinners going once Killian's attendance was a regular thing was a complete mystery. Mary Margaret, being the person she was, instantly befriended him. Finding out he was not only new to the firm, but to Boston and to the country, she invited him over to Sunday dinner. When Emma arrived to find him there, not even her love of her best friend could keep her civil. But David and Killian had hit it off, and 6 years later the two were best friends.

Late Sunday morning, when Emma finally left Killian's bed, he texted his friend.

 _KJ: Sorry I missed breakfast. Long story. Around for lunch?  
DN: Sure. Granny's?_

David arrived to see Killian sitting at a booth with his head in his hand.

"What's up, mate?" David always attempted to imitate Killian's accent. He always failed.

"I've a problem. And you can't tell your wife. She would not approve. Not at all. I can't tell you unless you can promise you can keep it from Mary Margaret."

David looked at his friend. Keeping secrets was not something he and Mary Margaret did. But his friend truly looked in pain.

"Okay. I won't tell her. What's wrong."

"I slept with Emma."

David had just taken a sip of water, and nearly choked. That was the last thing he expected to hear. He couldn't even figure out which question he wanted to ask first so instead he just waited for Killian to supply more information.

"We were fighting and then making out. And then we were back in my room and we slept together. And now, she wants us to continue sleeping together. Because as she puts it, 'she doesn't date and I'm not seeing anyone, so why don't we just help each other out.' Which is why you can't tell Mary Margaret. She would never approve of sex without feelings."

"What I'm gathering by your torment is that maybe there are feelings?"

"Of bloody course there are feelings. You know that woman, Dave? She's infuriating. But she's also amazing. I've never met anyone like her. Just, how could I say no? And how do I do this?"

"So, this is going to sound weird, but I think you secretly date her."

"I don't follow."

"Well, don't let it just be sex." David felt uncomfortable just saying it. "When you guys meet up, bring dinner saying, 'I'm sure we'll work up quite the appetite.' Then you eat together. I don't know, plan things. Make it so that you're spending time together. Eventually, she'll realize it's more than just sex."

Killian sat quietly. David was absolutely brilliant.

"Mate, I've always wondered how you ended up with your wonderful wife. It all makes sense now. You tricked her," he teased.

That earned Killian an eye roll.

"But seriously, Killian, take it slow. Let her get to know you. Get to know her. She's got a tough exterior, but because she's had to." David was thoughtful. "Are you serious about this? About her?"

"Yes. I wouldn't be here talking to you if I weren't."

An hour later, without betraying any of Emma's secrets, David had truly done his friend a service. The two had come up with a solid plan for whittling away her defenses, allowing Killian to turn "just sex" into everything.

* * *

Emma was puzzled when she opened her door and saw Killian standing there with take out Chinese. Puzzled but actually quite pleased. She hadn't thought through the plan before she told him to come over, and realized there was every possibility that she wouldn't be getting dinner. There certainly wasn't anything in her refrigerator to offer him.

"What's that?" she asked. As if she didn't know. But she was just curious as to motive.

"Sustenance. You'll need it for what I have in mind for you tonight," he said, raising his eyebrow.

He sneaked in past her, and looked around her apartment, impressed. Open, clean lines, comfortable furniture. Few personal touches, a picture here and there, but that was Emma. She put very little of herself on the surface. He was willing to dig.

He put the bag down on the kitchen bar top and sat in a stool. "I'm fine with eating from the containers, and there are chopsticks here if you don't want forks. I got a bit of everything, Swan."

She eyed him, not comfortable with how at home he looked. He pulled out a paper bag, unveiling a bottle of wine as well. "We will need glasses though." She put a corkscrew down on the counter in front of him, and he grimaced. "No need, love. I always make sure it's a screw top." He waved his wrist in front of her and she looked slightly ashamed. For all his faults she tended to forget his missing hand. That was one thing she never held against him.

The scent of broccoli and beef had finally made its way to her, and she could no longer resist. She joined him at the counter, taking the chopsticks out the the package and quickly dug in. He passed her a package of soy sauce, and she realized that he intended for her to open it. He didn't ask, and she didn't say anything. She just opened it and passed it back. She wondered how he did that on his own. Probably something less graceful involving his teeth.

They ate in companionable silence, which made Emma uneasy when she thought about it. It shouldn't be this easy to have someone new in her home. She didn't start to truly relax until they finished and had packaged the food up and stowed it in the refrigerator, and Killian cornered her against the counter. This, this was what was familiar. She could do this.

"So, Swan," he paused to drop open kisses to her collarbone, "care to give me a tour?"

Emma turned, and took him by the hand, leading him straight to her bedroom. She turned on a light as they entered, and turned to face him, pressing the length of her body against him. "So, Killian, these needs of yours. Hopefully you intend to make sure my needs are met as well."

"Swan, a gentleman always makes sure a lady's needs are met first. And I am _always_ a gentleman."

* * *

It was Emma who asked for their next meeting, shooting Killian a text on Thursday as she was heading to the train. She'd sat at home all night Tuesday and Wednesday with her phone in hand, drafting texts to Killian that were never sent. But by Thursday she couldn't wait any longer.

 _ES: If you wanted to come over tonight I wouldn't say no.  
_ _KJ: Oh, no. That's not how this works, love. You have to tell me you want me to come over. Otherwise you can take care of yourself. Although, maybe I'd like to watch that.  
_ _ES: …  
_ _ES: I'd like you to come over, Killian. I've taken care of myself for the past two nights, and maybe that's just not doing it for me now._

He nearly dropped his phone when he read the message.

 _ES: My vibrator just doesn't measure up.  
_ _KJ: Damnit, Swan. I'm still at my desk at work. If you'd like me to be able to stand up to leave, you need to stop.  
_ _ES: haha. Just come over._

He arrived with Italian and another bottle of wine.

"You didn't have to do that. I could have ordered for us."

"Nonsense. I want to make sure I leave you sated in every possible way." He put his hand at her waist and pulled her close, dropping a kiss on her lips. She responded, and their dinner was forgotten in an instant. He backed them into the bedroom. He delighted in learning every single thing that made her moan, squirm, or sigh in pleasure, filing the information away for their next encounter. When she finally came undone, he was not too far behind.

* * *

Sunday mornings were Emma's least favorite part of the week. An ennui usually settled in. She would think about everything she needed to get done before Sunday dinner, knowing that her weekend was about to be over. But all she would really want to do was lay around on the couch reading or binge watching TV. The past few Sundays she and Killian had spent holed up in one apartment or the other, pleasuring each other, eating, and watching TV. For the first time in forever, her Sundays were no longer a chore. But he wasn't around this weekend, and although she wouldn't admit it to herself, she missed him.

When her phone lit up with a text, she practically raced to reply.

 _KJ: 2PM. The Clarke. I have tickets. You in?  
_ _ES: That's impossible. It's sold out for the next 3 months. Plus, you were busy.  
_ _KJ: Got the tickets when they first went up. My friend Pete was supposed to be coming into town but he didn't. Stop questioning, are you in?  
_ _ES: Are you sure you want to take me? People are dying to go.  
_ _KJ: Dave's busy. Not really anyone else to ask. And I said stop questioning. Are you in?_

The Clarke was the new contemporary art museum, and tickets were near impossible to come by. Emma had been dying to go, but had failed to get tickets despite her best efforts.. As it was, she was on a wait list a mile long.

 _ES: Um, yeah. Meet you there._

 _KJ: No, I'll swing by. We can get lunch on the way._

Emma suddenly found motivation to get up and get some things done, knowing she had plans for the day. But she found herself distracted as she cleaned and did laundry. Killian's admission that he didn't really have anyone else to ask had struck her. She realized that for as much as she'd come to know about Killian over the past month, there was still so much to find out.

He arrived at noon to get her, saying he knew just the place for lunch. She laughed when they arrived at Granny's.

"Granny's? You brought me to Granny's?" The diner was the kind of place where everyone felt immediately at home. "Let me guess, you eat here with David?" He nodded. "You know this is my place, right? I worked here through college. I introduced Mary Margaret and David to it. We're on my ground here, Jones."

"Hey Emma. Hey Killian," they heard the waitress call to them as they walked in. Ruby, Emma's former co-worker, and current friend, as well as Killian's regular waitress, was delivering a tray of food as they took a booth. They saw her head whip around as she registered that they were walking in together. She practically dumped the tray of plates on a customer's table in order to get over to them.

"What's this?" she asked, pointing back and forth between the two of them. Emma was quick to try to cover. "We're on our way to the Clarke. The architecture is supposedly amazing. We need to take some pictures for the office?"

Ruby wasn't buying it. "On the weekend? And they sent the two of you? If what I hear from David and Mary Margaret's Sunday night dinner stories is true, that museum won't be standing by the end of the day."

"Very funny, lass. We've called a truce. I'd be more worried about Granny's existing if you don't get Swan her grilled cheese and onion rings ASAP."

He gave her his most devastating smile, but Ruby was even less fooled than before. "So, I'm supposed to buy that you're on an assignment for work, but you just happen to know that Emma likes grilled cheese and onion rings." His face fell. Emma's head hit the table.

"Ruby, it's really not what you think. But it's not anything we want to explain. Mary Margaret would not understand and we really don't want her to know. Please don't say anything."

This Ruby understood. Ruby knew Mary Margaret just enough to know her endless supply of hope and her relentless quest for everyone's happy endings. Mary Margaret would see Killian and Emma together and hope for so much more. Emma and Ruby were cut from the same cloth. Sometimes someone was just convenient.

"Got it. Food will be right out."

-/-

Emma was not surprised that she enjoyed Killian's company at the museum. For all that they argued, she always knew he was intelligent and keenly observant. They spent hours evaluating, critiquing and laughing. Most of the exhibits were to be expected, nothing really new. If it weren't for the company, Emma would have felt quite let down by the excursion.

However the last exhibit was something unexpected. Requiring special ticketing, it was a room that admitted two at a time through a dark tunnel blocking out all light. Killian entered the tunnel first, running his wrist along the railing, with his hand held out groping for Emma's. Even in the dark she knew he was searching for her, and had reached to find him.

Making their way into the room, they found the bench they'd been told to expect and sat. And sat. The pure black of the room was supposed to cause each person to focus on the the images supplied by the mind. Instead, all Emma could focus on was the man sitting next to her holding her hand.

For all of the intimacy they shared, sweaty, tangled in the sheets of a bed, this was an entirely new experience. For fifteen minutes they sat in complete silence. Emma would have given everything to know what he was thinking. What surprised her was that as curious as she was to know what was going on in Killian's mind, and how new this situation was for the two of them, she was absolutely comfortable. He should be making suggestive comments. She should be fighting with him. But instead, they were silent and contemplative. And comfortable. It wasn't bad.

When she heard the attendant call time, signaling that they needed to leave to allow the next ticket holders to enter, she was glad that Killian still held her hand tightly within his as they made their way down the dark corridor. Neither spoke. Emma was unwilling to break the spell that seemed to come over them inside the room.

The connection was destroyed the second they stepped out of the room. Their boss was standing in line to enter, and they both, still without even saying a word, made a mad run for it. When they were two blocks away from the museum, and both sure they'd escaped without being seen, they collapsed on a bus stop bench laughing.

"Oh bloody hell. Thank god we got out without that wanker seeing us."

"Yes, can you imagine if we'd had to explain this? He'd send us straight into Hopper to fill out all the employee dating paperwork. I don't even want to think about the expression on his face if we tried to explain it was just sex."

Emma had said this as she stood up and walked couldn't look at him just then. She felt like things had shifted slightly, and she needed to put them back in place. It was just sex. They both needed to remember that. Especially her.

"Right." Killian was glad she wasn't looking at him. He didn't want her to see that his face had fallen at hearing her admit it was still just physical, crushing his hope that she'd felt something more.

* * *

Emma watched as Killian received a verbal lashing from their boss. He was seated in the glass conference room directly in front of her desk, and she couldn't help but observe. Something just seemed off. Killian wasn't one to just sit there and take Gold's abuse, especially now when it was unjustified. Killian always pushed back. But today he sat, head bowed, not even nodding any acknowledgement.

When Gold finally released him Emma tried to catch his eye as Killian made his way past her desk, but he didn't look up. Everything about him screamed sadness and defeat. Wanting to do something, but not being the comforting type, she went with the only thing at her disposal.

 _ES: Rough day? Want me to make things better?_

The reply came much, much later.

 _KJ: Swan, I'm just not up for it tonight. I'm afraid I'll be horrible company. Rain check?  
ES: No. I'll come over to yours. I already put in our dinner order. We can just watch something, and maybe if you do end up in the mood I can take care of you? _

Killian smiled sadly at his desk. She would take care of him. He liked the sound of that. Even if she didn't mean it the way he wanted. At least there was one good thing about today.

 _KJ: Fine, but don't blame me if you're unsatisfied._

She started to set out their dinner on his kitchen table, but he insisted on eating in front of the TV.

"Swan, this is literally the worst night. Can we just sit in front of the TV and not talk?"

"Sure." She carried their plates over and joined him in front of the TV. Jeopardy was on. Usually when they watched it both were competitive about answering before the other. Tonight, he didn't even try. She followed his lead and stayed silent, just eating and sipping her drink. When he finished eating and Jeopardy was over, he slouched down in the cushions and handed Emma the remote.

"I don't care what you watch."

She'd never seen him this despondent. She didn't want to pry though.

Flipping to his DVR menu, she came across hours and hours of a Discovery TV show that she also loved. Starting the completely mindless TV she scooted close to him and put her arm around him.

He put his head on her shoulder and a moment later she felt him relax. "This is good," he said.

They were silent for the first episode. As Emma queued up the next Killian finally spoke. "I always think my brother would have liked this show."

"You have a brother?"

"Had a brother. He died 7 years ago today in an accident."

She pulled him a little bit closer and reached out to hold his hand in hers. Staying silent, she knew he'd share more if he wanted. This was no time to ask questions.

"It was the same accident that took my hand. I would have given both of them if I could have saved him." Tears were falling down his cheeks. "I would have given my own life." He started sobbing.

She pulled him into a full hug, rubbing his back and stroking his hair. She couldn't say it was okay. She couldn't say anything to comfort him. She didn't know how. Emma wasn't wired for comforting words. But she could hold him. And she did. She held him until his tears stopped, and his breathing settled.

When he'd cried his fill, he pulled away and grimaced. "Sorry you had to see that, love. I'm afraid I'm not very good company tonight."

She made sure to take his hand again. "Don't be sorry. I know you might not understand this right now, but I'm actually jealous. I don't have any family. I never have, so to even have had a brother would be everything to me. I can't begin to imagine how terrible it would be to have lost him." They sat silently, eyes focused on the TV but neither were really paying attention.

"You should tell me about him."

He smiled. It had been so long since he had talked about Liam to anyone.

"He was more than just a brother to me. He was everything. My father abandoned us when I was little, and my mother died when I was 8. Liam was 10 years older, and he was able to manage it so that he got custody. He gave up everything to raise me, getting a job and working to earn enough to support us both. He was my best friend, my brother, and my parent. And I couldn't have asked for better. He was the best man I've ever known."

"He must have loved you very much to have taken care of you like that. You were lucky."

He closed his eyes and let a few final tears fall. He needed to hear that his brother loved him.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For coming over tonight. It's not exactly part of our deal to listen to me cry over my dead brother."

She held him closer and placed a kiss on his temple as her only response.

They turned back to the TV, distracted for a little while.

"Swan, what do you mean you don't have any family?"

She sighed. She knew it would come up eventually once she'd made her confession. "My parents, well, my mother at least, abandoned me as a newborn. I was placed into the foster system, but never adopted. Just shuffled from house to house. Some of the foster families were great, but just, none of them were home. None of them were a mom and dad. Mary Margaret and David are the closest thing I have to a family."

"I didn't know."

"I know. Mary Margaret and David are the only ones who do. But I've basically threatened them with death if they ever tell anyone."

He smiled. "Well, upon my life your secret is safe with me as well."

"I know."

He was touched that she told him, and that she admitted she felt safe telling him. He felt better tonight about Liam's death than he ever had. Maybe it was that it was another year had passed and that he'd had another year to heal. But he knew it had more to do with the woman sitting next to him and supporting him.

When he started to yawn, a little earlier than usual, the day's events having really taken their toll, she got up and said she'd get out of his way.

"Stay. Would you stay, Emma? Please."

What surprised her is that it didn't scare her to stay.

She crawled into bed next to him, and let him hold her in his arms and fell asleep.

* * *

"Hey, Mate."

"She stayed last night." He didn't even acknowledge his friend's greeting as he sat down to the table for lunch. "She stayed. No sex."

"This is good. How did it go this morning?"

"She got out pretty quickly. She had to go home to get ready for work. But it wasn't awkward." As soon as they placed their orders Killian recounted the events of the evening.

"Killian, you knowing about her childhood is a big deal. She's not kidding when she says Mary Margaret and I are the only ones who know. I think we knew her for a year before she finally told us about that. Emma opening herself up to trust you, that's not small."

"I know. Which makes me feel terrible about this whole thing. I feel like I've tricked her into getting to know me. It's not exactly going to inspire her to continue to trust me."

David thought. "Killian, I think if you were doing it for an ulterior motive, you'd be right. But you're doing it because you actually have feelings for her. You actually care about her. This may be the only way you ever could have gotten through her guards enough for the two of you to get to know each other."

"I just hope you're right."

* * *

Emma arrived earlier to Sunday dinner than Killian, as he had some work that had taken up his Sunday. Arriving at their apartment she chatted with David and Mary Margaret in the kitchen as they jointly put the finishing touches on dinner.

"Mary Margaret, did I tell you about Amy, the new detective at work?"

"No, who's that?"

"I thought I did. I was thinking I'd invite her to Sunday dinner next week. She just moved here and she doesn't know anyone. Maybe you and Emma can be friendly? Like I said, she doesn't know anyone."

"Of course we can." The Nolan household was always open to strays.

"And I'm thinking she and Killian might really hit it off."

Emma had just walked out of the room to set wine glasses on the table and nearly stopped in her tracks. She wasn't expecting that. And she certainly was not expecting what the idea of Killian dating someone else would do to her. Heart sinking in her chest, lungs collapsing. She was grateful that David had said that when she was not in the same room. She would not have been able to hide her reaction. As it was, she needed a few minutes before she could re-enter the kitchen.

"Emma, are you alright?"

Emma turned to her friend, trying to smile as though nothing was wrong. Everything was wrong.

"Oh, I'm fine. Just feel a little hot. Maybe it's the heat of the oven. I'll be fine when we sit down for dinner."

She wasn't fine when they sat down for dinner. All she could think about was how her life would change when Killian was done with her. He would eventually be ready for a girlfriend. Just sex wouldn't work for him forever, and he'd want to find someone who could give him more. She would become the fifth wheel at Sunday dinners, until it became uncomfortable and it would become a "couples event." She would see Mary Margaret at work, and David whenever they had a party.

Her mind had quickly spun a future in which everyone was happy but her. That's what life always dealt her. She needed to start getting used to it now.

When dessert was over, she nearly ran out the door, not waiting for Killian down the block as had become their routine.

"Swan, wait up," she heard him call, footsteps pounding the pavement behind her.

She slowed, knowing there was no way out of it.

"What's gotten into you tonight?"

"Nothing, just tired. I've got a lot to do at work and I need to get home and get to bed."

"So, you don't need me to join you? I could maybe take your mind off things." He bumped her shoulder with his and gave her a pointed look.

She tried to behave normally, as if she weren't deep in thought. "No, Killian. Not tonight. I just need to get home."

By the time she'd gotten home and into bed, she'd fully convinced herself it was time to end things with Killian. She needed to end it before she got hurt. She was lying to herself. The thought of it was already almost more than she could bear.

* * *

Each day that passed Emma found some new way of avoiding Killian Jones.

Monday

 _KJ: Your place or mine tonight, Swan?  
ES: Not tonight, Jones. So much to do, and I have to be back here early. You're on your own.  
_ _KJ: That's not nearly as much fun._

She didn't reply.

Tuesday

 _KJ: So, tonight?  
ES: I have plans with Ruby. I haven't seen her in forever and I promised her we'd catch up. _

He knew she was lying. He grabbed dinner at Granny's that night, and Ruby happened to be his waitress.

Wednesday

 _KJ: Come on, Swan. Don't make me tell you I have needs.  
_ _ES: Tomorrow?_

Thursday

 _KJ: So, what's the plan for tonight?_

He received no reply.

Friday

She called in sick.

 _ES: I don't feel well. I need to bail on dinner tonight. I'm so sorry. Have a good time. :-)_

The closer they got to Sunday the more she realized she could not be there to watch Killian meet Amy. It was best they have Sunday dinner without her. It would be as it should be.

 _MM: Oh no. Do you need anything? We can send it over.  
_ _ES: No, no. I'll be fine. I think I just need sleep. See you tomorrow.  
_ _MM: Well, let us know. Feel better. 3_

Sighing with relief, grateful that her friend didn't push it further, Emma sat on the couch in her most comforting sweats, greasy four day old bun, waiting for a pizza. At least if she were going to wallow in self pity she'd be comfortable and fed. Queuing up her favorite movie she settled in for a long night in front of the TV.

 _DN: Don't come here. Emma's "sick." Go there.  
_ _KJ: She hasn't spoken to me all week, mate. Not exactly sure what going over there is supposed to do.  
_ _DN: Do you want this or not?  
_ _KJ: God damnit, yes.  
_ _DN: Then go fight for it, mate._

Killian looked at his phone. That's what his brother would have told him. If you want something, you need to fight for it. Whatever was going on, he had let Emma have her space. She didn't get to end this without giving him an explanation.

He knocked on her door and heard 'be right there' called through. It sounded like she was expecting someone, and he had a moment of panic as scenarios of her having moved on flashed in his head.

When he saw her, in her grungy sweats and greasy haired glory, he laughed off the possibility. When he looked down and noticed she was about to hand him a fistfull of cash, he laughed outright.

"Swan, I'm not sure you owe me for any services rendered, but I'm sure we can work something out." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"What are you doing here?"

"Mary Margaret and David said you were sick, so I thought I'd bring you a care package. Soup, Gatorade, crackers. You know, sick people stuff. I know you don't have anything in your cupboards. But based on the fact that you were.." He turned to see a pizza delivery person walking down the corridor, and stop right next to him. Without commentary, Emma exchanged the cash for the pizza, and he followed Emma into the apartment.

"I was going to say waiting on supplies, that you could take care of yourself. I am now going to admonish you. Pizza is not good for you when you're ill."

"Thank you, Killian. As you can see, I've got food. I can take care of myself. Now you can still make Sunday dinner and report that I'm not going to die."

"And let you eat all of that pizza all by yourself? Never." He grabbed plates out of her cabinet and carried the box over to the couch. "Swan, you can grab drinks for us. Unless you drank all my beer there should still be some in there, please?" He made himself at home on her couch, not waiting on her to restart the movie. He could tell from the paused screen what it was, and knew she'd seen it a million times.

Emma stayed in the kitchen, looking over at him as he propped his feet up on her coffee table.

"Aren't Mary Margaret and David going to miss you?"

"I think they can do without us for one dinner, Emma. They eat together six nights a week. They can handle seven."

"No, I mean, they were inviting one of David's new co-workers over so that you could meet her. They thought the two of you would hit it off."

Killian was simultaneously furious and elated. Furious, because he knew there was no woman over at the Nolan's waiting to meet him. Dave would have fabricated the whole thing to make Emma jealous. He was elated because it worked. This isn't how he would have wanted any of this to happen, but this was his chance.

He put his plate down and walked over to her in the kitchen.

"Emma, is that why you've been avoiding me all week? Because Dave wanted me to meet another woman?"

"It's not just that, Killian. It's just, I realized that, well this is more than just sex. We're friends now. We spend all our time together. We have for months. If you do start to date, this is going to have to end. And I need to get used to the idea that you're not always going to be around."

He was standing in front of her, close, but not close enough to touch her. He looked at her, not allowing her to break eye contact.

"Start to date, love?"

"Yes. You'll meet someone eventually."

"Emma, I've already met someone."

She didn't respond.

"She was a little infuriating to start out with, but break through that tough shell and there's no one, _no one_ , I'd rather spend time with. No matter what we're doing."

Emma could swear her heart had stopped.

Killian still hadn't touched her. He wanted to wait until she reached out to him. He wanted to know she wanted this.

"But Killian, I don't date."

At this he threw his head back and laughed. "Love, I'm not sure what you'd call the last few months, but I'm pretty sure you do date. We kind of skipped the first part of the story where I would have taken you out for fancy dinners and romantic evenings, and we've settled right into the couple who's been together for years kind of dating, but you, Emma Swan, have been dating me for months."

She opened her mouth to protest and immediately closed it. She realized, that despite her gut instinct to argue, she had no counter. He was right.

She scooted a step closer. But that wasn't enough. So she moved another step closer. And another. She reached out with both her hands, lacing her fingers through his and taking his forearm in the other.

"When?"

"When what, love?"

"When did we start dating?"

He pulled her in, closing any remaining distance between them, and wrapped his arm around her waist. "I'd like to say the day after the Holiday Party. Dave would say the first night we didn't threaten to kill each other at Sunday dinner."

"David knows?"

"Yes. Since the beginning. He's been quite the champion of our relationship."

"But then why would he have been trying to set you up with his co-worker?"

"I think it was his attempt to speed things up. I'm not sure but I think he thought a little jealousy might be what was needed to push you in the right direction. Despite the results, I'm not happy with his methods."

Emma scowled. "We can never let him know it worked." She most definitely did not like the idea that one of her closest friends had played with her emotions. "Wait, does Mary Margaret know?"

"Yes, I think the only one who didn't know we were dating, love, was you." She laughed. "David was supposed to keep it to himself, but those two have no secrets. It's a little sickening really."

She felt his arm tighten at her waist.

"Emma," he said, with a smile.

"Killian," she said, returning the smile. She felt lighter than she had all week.

"You like me," he teased her. She turned red. "You used to hate me."

"Hate's a strong word, Jones."

"You used to _HATE_ me."

"Did you ever hate me?" She wasn't sure she wanted to hear the answer.

"Never. Not for one second. Not even at your loudest, most irrational, most infuriating point."

Instead of replying, Emma rose up to kiss him. As it grew more passionate, she steered them towards the bedroom and for the first time this would not be just sex. For the first time, Emma Swan and Killian Jones had every intention of making love.

* * *

AN: the exhibit they see is a real one, by light artist James Turrell. it actually takes 4 at a time, and i did not experience it with a gorgeous man. i had to take SOME liberties for the story. also, i'm not at all doing justice with the description.


	10. Chapter 10

"Shit."

He chuckled as he watched the blonde next to him in the grocery aisle duck behind him.

"Hiding from someone, love?"

Her eyes grew wide as she realized that she'd involved someone else in her attempted escape.

"Sorry, but yes. That man down there. Literally the worst Tinder date ever. And it took over a month to get him to stop calling me. I'm scared that if he sees me, it will all start back up again. I'll have to change my number."

"Well, I think I can help with that. If he comes down this way, you and I are discussing what type of risotto we're making for dinner tonight."

"Thanks, but you don't have to do that. Besides, he does know enough to know that I don't even know what risotto is, let alone know how to make it."

He looked down at her basket and noticed the 4 boxes of Kraft macaroni and cheese.

"Love, that's unacceptable. That's not a proper dinner for an adult. Risotto. End of story. It's not that hard, and it's delicious. And it's decided, shrimp and spinach."

"There's nothing wrong with Kraft macaroni and cheese!" she protested loudly as he smiled at her.

"Emma?"

Both turned to see the man in question standing right in front of them. They'd been so caught up in their discussion they hadn't noticed him approaching.

"Oh, Walsh. Hi."

"Hi, It's great to see you. I've tried calling you, but you haven't picked up."

And there it was. It was going to start all over again. The month of seeing his number pop up. The month of screening her phone calls. She wanted to groan. But before she could react, she felt an arm slip around her waist, and a kiss placed on her cheek.

"Love, who's this?"

The arm at her waist felt so natural. His body at her side belonged there. It took her a moment to compose herself. Smiling, telling herself she was just playing along, she leaned into him and kissed his cheek in return.

"Oh babe, this is Walsh. I went out with him for just one date." She looked up at him with a dazzling smile. "But then I met you."

He looked at the man and extended his hand. "Killian Jones. Can't say that I'm sorry that things didn't work out for you, mate. Don't know what I'd do without her."

"Right. Um, well, it was good to see you, Emma. Killian."

He continued down the aisle and on with his grocery shopping.

"So now, love. Shrimp and spinach risotto? Do you like lemon?"

Emma stood slightly puzzled. "What?"

"Lemon? Do you like lemon? I like it tart, but I'll keep it buttery if that's how you like it."

"You're not actually cooking me dinner."

He smiled. "Well, as I see it, Emma, you owe me. And I'd like to collect by saving you from eating that awful orange cheese. I'm an awfully good cook. Besides, I think he's still here. I could start a massive fight with you and storm out. I'm sure he'd like to comfort you."

"YOU WOULDN'T."

"You're right, of course I wouldn't." He paused, trying to figure out how he could win with this quite stubborn woman. "Would dinner with me really be so bad? It can't possibly be worse than it was with him, right?"

She had to give him that. Nothing could have been worse than Walsh. And his arm had felt good around her waist. And she hadn't minded when he kissed her cheek.

Abandoning her boxes of Kraft on the nearest shelf, she responded with a smile. "I guess it depends on whether or not I end up liking risotto."

* * *

AN- born of the 5 minute writing challenge on Tumblr. I failed! This took 30. But we all need a little fluff right now, RIGHT?


	11. Chapter 11

_AN - An absolutely silly little piece of fluff. I'd say I'm sorry, but I needed fluff and this is what happened. Set in the 50s. Let's pretend Emma, MM, and David are emigrating from Ireland to the United States. Yes, the lock picking is straight out of Brooklyn._

* * *

Ireland no longer held any promise for Emma Swan. Orphaned, tarnished reputation, and no promise of any future, it was time for a change.

When her best friend, Mary Margaret Blanchard mentioned in passing how nice it would be to move to the United States, Emma decided that it was the necessary next step in life for them both. Mary Margaret needed to get out from under her step-mother's control now that her father had passed, and Emma just needed to run from everything she knew.

It took saving, borrowing, and begging for every cent, but they scraped enough together for the fare. Mary Margaret had managed to talk their parish priest into sponsoring visas for them both. That's one area Emma never could have managed without her friend's help. Mary Margaret was the model parishioner, while Emma was so very fallen in their eyes. Ultimately, that was what did it. Mary Margaret's impassioned plea that everyone deserved a second chance. No priest could turn down her angelic face and speeches of hope and redemption.

It wasn't long before he came to the girls with the news that not only had he secured visas, but that they would be heading to Brooklyn, New York, where jobs were waiting for them at a department store.

Maybe there was something to be said for hope.

* * *

Emma returned to their cabin to find her friend politely knocking on the door of their shared restroom.

"What's going on?"

"I really need to get in there, but it's locked. It has been since I came back from dinner. I don't know what to do." Despite her friend's calm exterior, Emma could see the agony creeping across her face.

"Oh _hell_ no." Even in her discomfort Mary Margaret shot Emma a look of admonishment. She should have been used to Emma's lack of piety by now, really.

Emma crossed to her luggage and took out a nail file and returned to the door, deftly picking the lock. They had yet to meet the occupants of the cabin sharing their restroom, but had heard stories all over the ship of passengers locking the restrooms in order to monopolize them. Emma Swan was not about to let that happen. Not when lock picking was one of her special skills.

As soon as she heard the click, she flung the door open to find a dark haired man lying prostrate across the floor, clearly having passed out after emptying his stomach. His cabin mate came rushing in upon hearing the commotion, and all four soon occupied the already cramped space.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize that anyone was actually in here. I thought it was locked just to keep us out."

The blonde man standing in the door frame apologized in return as well. "My friend's dinner did not agree with him. I'm sorry we were monopolizing the restroom. Let me see if I can wake him."

The man crouched down the floor and started to prod the dark haired man currently sleeping, face pressed against the tile.

"Killian! Killian! These nice ladies need to actually use the restroom. Time to move it."

He stirred and tried to sit, completely baffled to his surroundings. When he finally turned to Emma, she was not prepared. Even the pallor of sickness couldn't hide how handsome he was and the red rimming his eyes only made them bluer.

Emma had to shake herself.

The blonde had put his hand out to help up the man from the floor. "I'm David, this poor sod is Killian."

Killian barely nodded. He was trying to use the toilet to help foist himself up and failing miserably. Emma decided to take pity on him and put her hands out to grasp under his elbow and shoulder some of his weight. With her help, David was able to guide him into the men's cabin, and deposit him into the lower bunk. Emma was not surprised to hear the door close and click behind her. Mary Margaret could wait no longer.

"I'm Emma, and that's my best friend, Mary Margaret."

"Nice to make your acquaintance. Headed to New York?"

"Yes, Mary Margaret and I are to work at a department store. We both worked at shops back home, so other than new location it won't be too much of a change. You?"

"Very different. Shepherd. Going to work in a factory. Not exactly a dream, but it will be good to send money home to my mum."

Emma smiled. "And him?" She tried not to seem too curious.

"Him, no. Limey bastard." They both laughed. "He's a writer. Travels. Nomad. Not entirely sure what he writes. Met him at a pub a few years ago and he tends to just show up from time to time. Told him I was emigrating and he said he'd come along for the ride and introduce me to New York. Can't say that I mind the company." From all that David tried to downplay it, she could tell that he truly liked the man passed out in the bunk.

They heard the click of the door, and Mary Margaret stepped into the room.

David's eyes flashed up, and Emma looked to see Mary Margaret staring in return.

"Mary Margaret, this is David. David, Mary Margaret." He took her hand, and Emma smiled to notice he didn't let it go, holding it gently.

It was late. Goodnights were said. And agreements were made that the door to the bathroom was not to be locked unless it was in use.

* * *

Emma was not surprised when David found them immediately following breakfast the next morning. She and Mary Margaret were taking a walk around the deck, and heard David's voice calling to them.

"Mary Margaret. Emma."

They turned, to see him running towards them, with Killian in tow.

"Ladies, good morning."

"Good morning, David." Mary Margaret had bestowed him with her most radiant smile, and David almost fumbled over his words trying to respond. Emma could have laughed at the two as obvious as they were, if she weren't trying to simultaneously ignore and study Killian as he stood silently behind David.

Finally, after ascertaining that Mary Margaret had a perfectly wonderful breakfast, slept peacefully, and was doing remarkably well, he remembered his manners and introduced Killian.

"Killian, this is Mary Margaret and Emma. They already know you."

Killian turned bright red at this. "Ladies, I deeply apologize. Dave here has informed me that I kept you from our shared restroom, and that indeed is poor form. I blame it all on the mutton stew, and will avoid it for the rest of our journey, and advise you do the same."

* * *

Despite some bad weather and rough seas, Emma was enjoying the passage. Like so many aboard, this was the first time in her life that nothing was expected of her. As long as she didn't mind missing breakfast, she could sleep as late as she pleased. She would wake and take her book to some corner of the ship where she could remain undisturbed, and lose herself between the pages.

"Ahoy there, Swan. What's this?"

She looked up, shielding her eyes from the glare of the sun.

"Killian. Hello. You've found me. I've been hiding to read. Mary Margaret would have wanted me to stroll with her and David around the deck, not wanting to seem improper spending time alone with a young man." She feigned grasping at invisible pearls and put her hand over her mouth in shock as Killian threw his head back in laughter.

He gestured, to confirm it would be alright to join her along the railing. and she nodded.

"No, I meant, what's this? What book is that there?"

" _The Smuggler's Revenge_ by Peter James."

He nearly choked.

"Don't laugh. I love his books. This is the last one left that I haven't read."

He took it from her and flipped through the pages.

"Swan, this is a library book."

She turned red. "Look, I'm going to mail it back. Just I didn't have time to finish it before we sailed. Well, that and I needed something to read aboard the ship." Maybe that was partially a lie. She hadn't been planning on returning it, but now that she'd been caught it sounded like a good plan. She'd checked it out the day before they left, hoping that none of the librarians were aware that it was her last day in the country.

"Besides, what's it to you?"

"Well, I am a writer. I feel a brotherhood with my fellow scribe. How are we supposed to earn an honest living when young ladies such as yourself steal books from the library?"

She turned red, and he dropped the subject.

"Now, tell me, love, what is it about the works of Peter James that make him so special?"

Emma's face lit up as she recounted the tales of the protagonist, Captain Hook. His epic adventures across the globe as he tracked down the man who killed his love and righted wrongs along the way.

If he didn't know better, Killian Jones would have been very jealous of Peter James.

"And now you grow despondent. What seems to be the trouble?"

"This is the last one. I've read everything he's published. Now I have to wait for more."

"Well, from what I can tell you were miserable in Ireland. Correct?"

"Yes."

"So when you get to the states you're going to be busy with a new life, meeting new people. I have a feeling waiting around for the next James book won't seem like such a chore."

She thought about it, and realized he was right.

"Now, why don't you put away your book, and store up what little you have left for another day. You can come take a stroll around the deck with me. If we find David, we can rescue Mary Margaret's virtue."

She laughed, and as they both stood she linked her arm through the crook of his elbow.

* * *

The rest of the passage was uneventful. The foursome spent most of their time together. David and Killian taught Emma and Mary Margaret card games, much to Emma's delight and Mary Margaret's chagrin. They strolled around the deck in nice weather. Killian lent Emma a book, telling her to save the rest of her stolen book for some night after they arrived that home seemed a little too far away. The journey almost felt like it came to an end too soon for all four.

* * *

Killian made it through immigration easily. As a visitor he didn't have to go through the same process as David and the ladies. He waited outside, a little anxious until he was joined by all three. As the only one with any knowledge of the city, he acted as tour guide, steering them towards their respective boarding houses.

Bidding Emma farewell at her new home, he kissed her hand and assured her they would be meeting again.

"Emma, I've never crossed the ocean before so pleasantly, despite how we first became acquainted. I can't leave you with any concrete plan of my actions right now, but please be assured I will see you again as soon as humanly possible. I've a few things I need to square away presently." He kissed her hand again, and made his farewell to Mary Margaret.

Waiting for David at the curb, allowing the two to say their goodbyes in private, he stewed over his next course of action. He'd been plotting in his head the entire journey, but without means to do anything about it.

After guiding his friend to his boarding house, he hailed a taxi and made his way into Manhattan. Holing himself up in a hotel with nothing but a typewriter and room service, he began to write. He thought back to every conversation he had with Emma on the ship, recalling every word she'd said about why she loved Peter James' books, and he poured himself, and her, into to the words.

The resulting story was purely Emma. Orphan girl took to the high sea for adventure. Exploring the world. Righting wrongs. Finding love. That had never been part of any previous James adventure, but it had to be now. The Swan, her ship, encountered the Jolly Roger, Hook's ship, and the two captains could not contain their feelings.

Weeks passed. He wrote, and edited, and wrote. It had to be perfect. For her, nothing less was acceptable.

One day, as he put the last page down, he realized he was finished. There were no changes to make. It was complete.

He started at the beginning, typing out a second copy, and then boxed them both up.

One was wrapped in brown paper and twine and couriered over to his publisher.

The other was wrapped in white paper, tied with a red ribbon, and sent with a handwritten note to Emma's boarding house.

* * *

"Emma, there's mail for you."

That was a sentence she'd never heard. The other girls of the house were always going on about news from home, or what they'd gotten from their boyfriends., but not Emma.

Not to say she was unhappy. Not at all. Life in the States was exciting. No one judged her, and she was enjoying the clean slate. But there were some things that starting over hadn't fixed. She still felt lonely from time to time. Mary Margaret was the best friend anyone could ask for, but sometimes Emma still felt the sting of not having family.

She went to the hall table to find the thick square of white, tied with the red ribbon. Reading the note, she wasn't sure what to make of it.

 _Emma,_

 _I didn't want you to have to wait. Please read. I'll be more anxious to know your thoughts than those of my publisher._

 _Killian_

Confused, she untied the ribbon and paper, to find a typed manuscript. She took it to her room and started to read. Mary Margaret found her there, four hours later, engrossed in the pages.

"He wrote me a book."

"Who, Killian?"

Emma nodded. "But not just Killian. He's Peter James."

"From those books you read?"

Emma just nodded. "He wrote this for me. It's me. It's a book for me." Mary Margaret picked up a page and skimmed and smiled at Emma.

"I'll leave you to it."

* * *

Emma came down to breakfast the next morning completely exhausted. She'd finished the entire book, and hadn't slept at all.

"Mary Margaret, I need David's address. I need to go talk to him so I can find Killian."

Mary Margaret obliged, and she watched Emma run out the door.

The landlord was not too pleased to have a young lady, despite her reputable appearance, banging on the door so early in the morning, but fetched David to the door anyway.

"I don't know where he is Emma. I haven't seen him since the day we arrived. He said he had something to take care of, and then left. I'll let you know if I see him. And I'll tell him you're looking for him."

Emma left crestfallen, but not hopeless. Everything Killian had written led her to hope. Hope that he had the same feelings for her that she had developed for him. She just needed to wait. He would come for her.

She returned home and tied the ribbon from the manuscript around her wrist. She couldn't carry the story around with her, but the ribbon was a constant reminder. Every night after dinner she would return to her room, re-reading the pages until sleep claimed her.

* * *

She didn't have to wait too long.

* * *

Friday nights the young ladies of the boarding house typically attended a dance the church held for the youth. Emma dreaded the events, but Mary Margaret forced her attendance. Emma would much rather have been at home, with her pages. By now she almost knew it by heart.

But here she was tonight, in the church activity room sitting at a table sipping a soda, watching Mary Margaret and David dance away. She was happy for them, and smiled thinking how a chance room assignment on their crossing had ended up being so fateful.

She looked down at the ribbon on her wrist.

It was just then that a figure appeared towering over her at the table.

Her rote answer bubbled off her lips before the gentleman had even asked.

"I'm not dancing tonight."

"That's a shame." She heard the English accent reply. "I'm quite good. And you should always pick a partner who knows what he's doing."

Her head flew up and a smile spread across her face.

"Still not dancing, love?"

She was up and in his arms in a heartbeat, effortlessly gliding across the floor. He glanced at their joined hands.

"Is that the ribbon from the package?"

She blushed and nodded.

"So you got my book?"

Again, another nod.

"Swan, the suspense. Tell a man what you thought."

"It was perfect, Killian. Or wait, is it Peter?"

He laughed. "It's Killian. Peter James was an invention of my publisher. But let's go back to where you said it was perfect."

"It was _perfect_."

The song slowed, and he pulled her closer. She nestled her head on his shoulder, and the music called for them to do nothing more than sway in place.

"And the ending? Captain Swan meeting Captain Hook, and the promise of sequels with their merged crews and adventures. You aren't put off by their joint future?"

He felt her shake her head.

"I think I'd be very disappointed if they'd parted ways, never to meet again," she finally admitted.

"Good." It was all he could say then. But he didn't let her out of his arms for the remainder of the evening.

He waited until they left to kiss her, away from the gossiping eyes of the parish.

* * *

When the newest Peter James book finally hit the shelves, Emma Jones was first in line to buy one, despite already having her own, one of a kind copy. The now battered pages tied with the ribbon were kept in a drawer next to their bed. Those pages were her most precious possession.

"Hello, love. Where have you been?"

"Out shopping. Care to see what I bought?" She sidled up to him at his desk, and he pushed out his chair enough so that she could seat herself in his lap. She pulled his book out of her handbag, and handed it to him.

"Oh, Mr. James, would you autograph it for me. Please?" He laughed she she batted eyelashes coquettishly.

"Why Mrs. Jones, it would be my pleasure." He pulled out a pen, but noticed that the title page had already been taken up with handwritten notes.

 _To the man who has given me everything I give him our next great adventure. Can Captain Swan and Captain Hook handle a stowaway child? Are pirate ships fit places for a baby?_

With shining eyes and a full heart, he enveloped his wife in his arms. "Now, that love, is a story I cannot wait to read."


	12. Chapter 12

**The Perfect Dog**

* * *

It was her nightly ritual.

"Dropshot! Dropshot."

Emma always felt beyond silly standing on the back porch calling for her dog. Who named a dog _Dropshot_ anyway?

But when you adopted older dogs from the shelter, the name was the name. Old dog, new tricks and all. But there would be no puppies for Emma Swan. No, puppies always found homes. She needed an older dog to love. One who had seen too many days in a cage. One who would be happy to come home with her. One who would never leave her side.

Instead she got Dropshot, who loved nothing more than escaping from the back door, leaving Emma to call after her in desperation. Some nights Emma really cursed her decision to tell the shelter she wanted the dog who had been there the longest. She should have spent a bit more time getting to know her before bringing her home. But she couldn't. It brought back too many memories.

So now she spent every night calling at the back door, trying to get her Houdini of a dog to return to the house. This was her life now. Dropshot was with her for the long haul.

You don't send dogs back.

"Dropshot!" She called out again. Her tone had become increasingly desperate. "I'll give you those treats you like. Don't you like the treats? How about a belly rub. Come on, girl. Please."

"Fan of tennis, love?" The voice, the deep, accented voice, startled her.

She'd been so intent on searching for signs of life in front of her, she hadn't noticed him creep up from behind. She'd seen the moving trucks earlier, but hadn't yet met her new upstairs neighbor. The old house had been split into two, and she and Dropshot occupied the whole first floor. When she saw signs of the new tenant's arrival her first thought was _please, please don't be the kind who wears shoes indoors_ followed closely by _oh god, another person to tell about Dropshot._

"Not so much, why?" She turned to respond, explanation of her dog's nightly escape queued up. But she couldn't get the words out once she saw him. Dark hair, blue eyes, toned chest. And this is just what she could tell from the dim of the porch light. She also noticed the smirk and the cocky swagger. _This_ was her new neighbor.

"I was going to use all of my tennis jokes as openers. Killian Jones, upstairs neighbor." He extended his hand for her to shake.

"Emma Swan, embarrassed dog owner. Sorry, you'll have to get used to it. She escapes every night. And every night I have to call her to come in."

"No worries. Although I can't imagine anyone wanting to get away from you."

She had to roll her eyes. Of course someone who looked like him had lines like that ready. And with that voice, and the accent, she was sure most girls fell for it. In an attempt to feel more on balance she returned to his earlier line of questioning.

"Do you know many tennis jokes?

"Just the fifteen, love."

She just looked at him, absolutely blank faced. She finally shook her head, indicating that she clearly did not get whatever it was that he just said.

"Fifteen-Love? It's a tennis score. How do you have a dog named Dropshot and not know anything about tennis."

Finally it dawned on her. "Wait, Dropshot. That's from tennis? That's how this dog got that stupid name? Tennis."

He burst out laughing. "Yes, Emma Swan, Tennis. What other questions can I help you solve?"

She turned back to the yard, too embarrassed to call out again. And was surprised when he did it for her. "Dropshot." _Oh, good lord_ she thought. _I could listen to that voice call for her all night._

When Dropshot came bounding up through a group of bushes, headed toward the porch at full speed she turned to him in complete shock.

"You're a dog whisperer."

Dropshot ran straight for him, dropping a mangled tennis ball at his feet. He immediately leaned down to pet her, and Emma was mesmerized.

"You're not a very nice dog you know. Making Emma worry like that. You should come when she calls you, love."

* * *

It became his nightly ritual. Emma would get home from work, and as soon as she opened the door Dropshot would make a break for it. Straight up the stairs to Killian's apartment. It was his cue to know his Swan was home. He'd walk downstairs, Dropshot close at his heels, and greet Emma as they figured out dinner.

Maybe she'd picked the perfect dog after all.

* * *

 _AN - This was from a tumblr prompt regarding someone talking to her cat and the neighbor overhearing. I hope her neighbor is as good looking as Killian, and that her story turns out just as well. As for Dropshot, well, that's my story. That was my childhood dog's name. And if you want to feel utterly ridiculous, call that home every night._


	13. Chapter 13

**It Wouldn't Be Terrible - CS-AU**

My take on the "married in Vegas but only one remembers it" trope.

* * *

Emma Swan awoke snuggled into the very solid chest of Killian Jones. It wasn't the first time, but her days since last waking up with him could be counted in years. Thirteen years to be exact.

The early days of their friendship had led to many shared nights, both platonic and romantic. The nights that Henry just would not stop crying. The nights they were too tired to keep their eyes open for the end of the movie. The nights lying tangled in the sheets and in each other's arms.

Until Emma pushed him away. Telling him she needed him too much to risk their friendship being anything more than just that, friendship.

But Killian Jones wouldn't be pushed away. Not completely.

She would have taken a moment to enjoy what might have been if it weren't for the raging headache and general dehydration. The waistband of her jeans was digging into her side only adding to her discomfort. In any other state she would have been able to truly appreciate the strong arms holding her as she nestled further into the crook of his arm trying to shield her eyes from the light.

"You're awake, love" she heard him say. His accent always a little slurred in the mornings.

"Mmmmhgh." She groaned. "I forgot how comfortable you are." He was running his hand through her hair, and despite her hangover, she found it soothing.

"Well, I guess now you won't really have the opportunity to forget, will you?" She felt him tighten his hold on her as he stroked her cheek with his hand. He captured her chin in his fingers, and just as he went to tilt it up, hoping to catch her lips in a kiss, they were both startled by the ringing of a phone.

Disrupted by the sound, she didn't have a chance to respond, or even question what he meant. She cursed the volume of the ringer, much too loud for her state this morning, as she flipped over to grab it from the nightstand. When she saw the smiling face of her son on the screen she tried to put on a game face to answer.

"Hey, kid. Did you forget the time change? Too early."

She could hear him laughing on the other end. "Did you have fun at Mary Margaret and David's party? I'd say I want to hear all about it, but I don't." Sometimes her kid was wise beyond his years, although her friend's and friend's soon-to-be-husband's joint bachelor/bachelorette weekend had remained relatively tame.

"Yes, too much fun. Mary Margaret and David better be in as much pain as I am right now."

"What about Killian?"

"I think that man could drink a distillery and be unaffected. So, what's with the call this morning?"

"Nicholas called and asked if I could come over to hang out. Granny said I had to check with you."

"Yeah, sure. As long as Nicholas' mom knows I'm out of town. Gotta go though, kid. Head is raging. Love you. See you tonight."

"Love you too, Mom."

She groaned as she hung up, and collapsed back into the bed. "I need water. I need pain medication. I need to make it back to my room so I can shower and pack before we need to check out." She closed her eyes for two seconds and thought about how nice it would be to curl back up in his arms, but didn't let herself act on it.

She'd established her boundaries with Killian years ago, and sleeping in his bed had already put her so far over the line. She always told herself that her unspoken rules were for Killian, so he would never get confused about where they stood. But really, on nights she was being honest with herself, after sending him home when she'd rather be leading him into her room, the boundaries were for her. She could do friendship. Opening herself up to more, letting them be more, would only ruin it. She would ruin it. And she couldn't risk that. He was too important.

Killian watched in total confusion as she put on her shoes and started checking around the room for any misplaced belongings. She was acting like it was any other morning. This was not how he expected their first morning as husband and wife to play out. He'd planned on ordering breakfast, discussing their future, and definitely taking advantage of the very large hotel bed. He didn't plan on watching her prepare to run out the door.

"Why did you let me drink so much? Please tell me I didn't do anything stupid."

 _She didn't remember._

"You don't remember last night, love?" He'd gone to bed the prior evening the happiest man in the world, dreaming of their new life together. Now it was all crashing down on him.

"I remember getting to the hotel bar, and then you and I went in search of a roulette table. That's the last thing I remember." She reached into her pockets and pulled out a handful of chips. "Did we at least win or am I going to find my checking account wiped this morning?"

"Your bank account is fine, Swan. And you didn't do anything stupid."

And there it was, the moment he should have told her. _You didn't do anything stupid, but we did get married._ How had he not realized just how drunk she was? He never would have let them go through with the crazy plan if he knew she was that drunk.

After she left the room, still no indication that she remembered anything from the night before, he truly was questioning if he dreamed it. It wouldn't be the first time he'd dreamed about a life with Emma Swan.

But he found the receipt in his wallet. He'd paid for a full package. Wedding ceremony, photos, and a bottle of champagne. Married. They were married.

A few hours of happiness dashed in an instant. Now all he could think about was how to tell his best friend, now wife, what they'd done. He was not looking forward to it.

Showered and packed, he rolled around to her room first, delivering what he imagined would be a much needed cup of coffee. He needed to find a way to tell her. Definitely without Mary Margaret and David there as witnesses. He couldn't imagine it would go over all that well, marrying Emma while she was too drunk to remember.

No, it was best that this stay between them.

She opened the door, and the hours had done nothing to help her hangover. "I think all the alcohol I drank last night decided to come back up. Along with all of the food I've ever eaten. Seriously, Killian, how drunk was I?"

"Love, I'm so sorry. Honestly I didn't think you had that much. You were fine at least until…" and that's when he remembered. The bottle of champagne they'd been given to celebrate the wedding. She was fine, up until the champagne.

"Until what?"

"Champagne." She groaned when she heard the word, and ran to the bathroom again.

"I drank champagne? I can't drink champagne." Killian knew this, and somehow on the most important night of his life, had forgotten. Regular drunk Emma is in control of everything. Champagne drunk Emma remembers nothing.

"I'm so sorry. A gentleman brought out a bottle of champagne to celebrate, and I think you drank most of it by yourself. I should have stopped you."

She rolled her eyes. "Killian, it's not your fault I got drunk. I should be responsible for myself. I should thank you for getting me back into the room and not letting me do anything stupid."

Again, there it was. _Well, love, you did marry me._

"What were we celebrating? You said the bottle of champagne was for a celebration."

"A gentleman at our roulette table won a considerable amount of money, and we helped him celebrate." He'd had to think quick. And he was lucky Emma was so sick, otherwise she would have spotted it in an instant.

"Oh."

* * *

He spent their flight back to Boston with Emma asleep on his shoulder, half caught between remembering the blissful hours he had with Emma as his wife and trying to figure out how to tell her. He'd have to tell her eventually, and the longer he waited the worse it would be.

He knew her, too well. If he recounted the night and told her how it all happened, she'd pull away from him. It had been thirteen years since she told him she didn't do "relationships." He'd tried over the years to push her to more. And every time she'd retreat, shutting him out for a while until she was sure he'd gotten the message. But this, this was too big. She would shut him out completely. The years they'd spent building their friendship would be gone in an instant. He wasn't ready to lose her just yet. He wasn't ready to lose her, ever.

Smoothing her hair out, and asking the flight attendant for some water in case she woke up, he decided to wait. He needed a plan. And until then, she didn't need to know.

* * *

"Henry?" Emma called for her son as soon as she walked through the door. It was only a three day trip to Vegas, but it was the longest she had ever been away from him.

"In here, mom." She went into his room to see him seated at the end of his bed, video game controller in hand. "Can't talk. About to beat this level."

"Well, of course. Never mind that you haven't seen me in three days."

She went into her room to unpack, and see if another shower would help with the headache she was barely keeping at bay. When she got out, Henry was waiting for her in the kitchen.

"I thought maybe we could order pizza for dinner, you know, so you don't have to cook."

"So thoughtful."

"And maybe have a movie night? Killian said we could rent Mad Max."

"You can call him and see, kid. I don't mind if he wants to come over."

Killian Jones had been a staple in their lives since the day he moved into the unit next door in their old building. She'll never forget the day she met him. Eight months pregnant, struggling to get her groceries into the building, she was startled as the one handed man had dropped his moving boxes to help her all the way up to her apartment. He kind of just inserted himself into her life, and she'd been grateful ever since. There's no way she could have made it through those early years raising Henry alone. He was at the door in a flash on nights when she just couldn't quiet the screaming child. He was there for grocery runs, emergency baby-sitting, and just general support.

In the beginning, when Henry was about six months, Killian asked her out. He'd found a babysitter, and taken her out on a date. An amazing date. That turned into the best six weeks of her life, until she ran, not physically but emotionally. She found herself falling too fast. She was opening up to him and realizing how easily she could love the man she was getting to know. He was becoming her everything. And it terrified her. So she explained that it was better if they just remained neighbors and friends. He'd become too vital to her, and she worried that when their relationship fell apart, she would lose the most important person in her life next to her son.

He argued, asking why she assumed it would fall apart. But she stood her ground.

She expected him to give up on her and Henry, and leave them. But Killian Jones always surprised her. Maybe now at the end of a long day, he'd head back to his apartment instead of into her bed, but he was still there. Every day. For her and for Henry.

And Henry loved him. Emma was pretty sure the kid didn't have a single childhood memory that didn't involve him. Moving day had been tough on them all. The small studio apartment had been fine for Emma and baby Henry. It had been okay for Emma and toddler Henry. But Emma and 4 year old Henry needed some space.

She remembers it so clearly. Movers with a packed up truck, ready to take their stuff two blocks over. Henry in Killian's arms, screaming his head off that he didn't want to go. Not if it meant that Killian wasn't going to live next door anymore.

It took Killian coming over and helping him set up his new room, and a sleepover on the floor that night, to convince the distressed kid that nothing was going to change. As she passed the doorway, looking to see Henry just nodding off, Killian winked at her and her heart skipped. She was tempted to go rescue him once she knew Henry was asleep. But she knew if she went in she'd end up in his arms, thanking him for everything he did for them. And it was only one step from there into her bedroom. No, it was better like this. She couldn't ruin it this way. Henry needed Killian. And this way Killian would always be there for him.

And he was. Killian was there for every scrape. Every soccer game. Every school program. He stood in for Henry's absent father at every "Take Your Father to…." event. Killian was Henry's best friend, and if she had to guess, Henry just might be Killian's.

* * *

He arrived at the diner for his weekly dinner with Henry to find the boy sitting and waiting for him. The routine had been established years earlier; Killian's attempt at giving Emma the night off. But it became so much more than quiet time for Emma. Henry used the time to talk to Killian about everything a young boy could need advice on, from bullies on the playground to, as he got older, girls. Killian was always there to guide or just listen.

"So, how was Vegas, really?" Henry was full of questions as soon as they sat down.

"What do you mean?"

"I dunno. You're supposed to have crazy stories from Vegas. You guys didn't get drunk and do anything?" Henry leveled a look at him, squinting his eyes and sizing Killian up.

The boy's questions almost seemed pointed and Killian started to worry a bit. It had been weeks since their return and he'd seen the lad dozens of times. Why was he bringing it up now?

"What are you implying that we could have done?"

Henry pulled out a large, stiff envelope out of his backpack and slid it across the table. The letterhead clearly indicated their hotel's wedding chapel.

"You didn't open this, did you?"

"Of course not. It was addressed to you."

He tore open the envelope immediately, and saw the Nevada marriage certificate and photoset included. He'd been dreading this day since he looked up what his receipt had actually paid for. Of course they'd given the chapel Emma's address assuming he'd move in there. Still without any plan in place to tell her they were married, he'd let it slide too long. There was no feasible way to explain it to her now. It was going to be an issue. Henry intercepting the package was only a stay of execution.

Once opened, Henry no longer had any qualms and grabbed a photo away from Killian. He couldn't quite read the expression on the boy's face when he saw the photoset. It was a tryptic of the couple posed at the altar; the three photos showing them smiling at the camera, smiling at each other, and finally arms wrapped around each other, lips pressed together in a passionate kiss.

"You and my mom got married? Why haven't you guys said anything?"

"Because your mom doesn't remember, and I haven't quite figured out how to tell her, 'so by the by, we got married, and then you drank champagne and blacked out and have no recollection of the event."

Silence fell over the table. Killian always suspected that Henry would prefer he and his mom be together, but he'd never said anything. The longer the silence stretched out, he wondered if he'd been wrong.

"So, you're like, really my dad now."

That was not what he was expecting. Killian could have grabbed him and pulled him across the table he wanted to hug him so badly. But Henry was thirteen, and had grown out of such displays of affection. Killian was always jealous as he'd watch Henry submit to the occasional hug from his mother. But gone were the days when Henry would throw his arms around his neck and hold on with all his might. As much as he loved the young man in front of him, there were certain things he missed about the boy.

"Lad, I couldn't love you any more if you were my own flesh and blood. If you want to be my son, you're my son. Regardless of my relationship with your mother, I am always going to be here for you."

He was shocked when Henry got out of the booth, and came over, sliding in next to him and wrapped his arms around his neck. His heart was so full of love for this boy.

The hug ended with a few manly slaps to the back and clearing of throats, and both ignored the other as they wiped the tears from their eyes.

"So, what are you going to do? I mean, you can't just stay married to her without her knowing, can you?"

"No, you're right. I can't. I have to tell her. Divorce and annulment require the signatures of both parties, so no matter what, she's going to find out."

"And there's no chance that you could, you know, stay married? I mean, what if it turned out you guys both loved each other and had never told each other?"

Killian eyed the kid. "Have you been watching romance movies all of the sudden? That's not how things work in real life. Your mom and I are friends. Always will be."

"But..."

"But nothing, son." He liked saying that. "It's been thirteen years. If something were going to happen, it would have happened by now." Killian had spent 13 years hoping for something to happen. Getting married and having it backfire was almost enough to extinguish the dream that it could. Almost. But he wasn't going to let the boy dream of something that now seemed even more impossible.

Henry thought that Killian could deny it all he wanted. He knew they loved each other and getting drunk in Vegas and getting married should count for _something_. He wanted to shake them and tell them both how stupid they were being. But if Killian wouldn't even listen to him, there was no way he'd get through to his mother. He'd have to wait this one out.

* * *

"Mrs. Jones?"

Emma had been mistaken for Killian's wife on several occasions over the years, but never over the phone.

The voice repeated. "Mrs. Jones, this is Boston Memorial. We have your husband here. He's in quite a bit of pain. We think it's kidney stones, but we're about to take him in for an ultrasound."

He must have put her as his emergency contact, and they must have assumed she was his wife. That's all she could think as she told the nurse she'd be right down.

He was still mostly lucid when she arrived. "Swan, love. I should explain. I listed you as my wife because I wasn't sure if they'd let someone who wasn't next of kin into the room."

She laughed. "It's fine. They said it's just a kidney stone. I can't believe you came to the emergency room for that. I pushed a whole human being out of my body and you're here because of a little stone?"

The nurse who had just walked into the room corrected her. " You might want to cut your husband some slack. I've had both. Babies and kidney stones. To this day I can't tell you which was more excruciating."

Emma took the admonishment as the nurse handed her a stack of forms to fill out, and instead of saying anything she just asked about the course of treatment. Killian suddenly doubled over in pain and started screaming.

"Well, first we're going to give your husband a nice dose of morphine for the pain. The doctor should be in shortly to discuss what the ultrasound found."

Emma watched as the pain erased itself from Killian's face as the drug spread through his body. He smiled at her and it lit up his face. "Emma. Hi."

"Hi, Killian."

"Did you know you're my wife?"

"I know, you lied to the nurses." She smiled at him the same as she would have humoring Henry when he was a child.

"No, I mean, like really my wife. We got married in Vegas. You don't remember." She couldn't even respond and her face must have shown the shock she felt. "Come'on, love. Being married to me wouldn't be so terrible, would it?" He faded as soon as he'd asked.

Emma collapsed into the chair in shock. She was glad he was out of it. She needed time to think. She closed her eyes and tried to put together the pieces of that night, but it was nothing more than a blur. She remembered Mary Margaret and David saying no to strip clubs, thank goodness, and she remembered they ended up at one of the hotel bars. The next thing she remembered was waking up in Killian's room, sick, hungover, and … very comfortably nestled into his chest. No, that part of being married to him wouldn't be terrible.

She started filling out the forms she'd been left and quickly realized she knew everything.

 _Next of Kin: Emma Swan. It really was her now. All of his family had passed, and she and Henry were it for him._  
 _Blood type: B+ Henry's 4th grade science project research._  
 _Past surgeries: Amputation, left hand- 1999. He told her the story, just once._

Thirteen years would do that. Thirteen years and he'd never once left her. In fact, he married her. And stuck around when he realized she didn't remember. Emma cried a little when she finally, after thirteen years, realized this man would never leave her.

She didn't move until the doctor came back to report the findings. Her husband, that word had weight now, didn't need further treatment besides fluids and pain medicine. The stone was small enough to let it pass on its own. As soon as he woke up, they'd release him. She just needed to make sure he drank water and took it easy until it passed.

She just needed to get him home.

* * *

"Henry, we're back."

"Swan, I assure you I could have gone home. I can take care of myself."

"Nope. You know if you'd have gone home you would have called me every half hour whining about how much pain you're in. Now, go lie down in my room. I'll bring you water and crackers. Henry will get the TV going in there for you."

Henry trailed off after him into the master bedroom.

She must have misheard, because otherwise she could have sworn she heard Henry say "Hey, Dad." as he walked into to the room.

"Hello, Son. Your old man's in pain." She realised it wasn't a mistake. She listened to the at the door to their conversation as Henry settled in next to Killian on the bed, queueing up a movie for them to watch together.

No, being married to him wouldn't be so terrible.

* * *

She sat, half kneeling, on the bed next to him. "Now what else do you need?"

"I need you to stop babying me so I can get some sleep."

"Okay, I'll be out on the couch. Just call if you need anything. Don't try to get up."

"Swan, you're ridiculous. I know first hand how lumpy that couch is to sleep on, and I'm not contagious. Your bed is big enough for us both. Please don't make me feel worse about this than I already do.

She relented, and turned out the lights, climbing under the covers.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For taking care of me. It is nicer being here with you and Henry than it would have been at home alone."

"Of course, Killian. For as many times as you've taken care of us over the years, I think we were due to repay the favor."

"I never mind you know, doing things for you and Henry."

"I know. Now go to sleep."

* * *

"Swan, SWAN." She tried to nestle further into his chest, but his arms were pushing her away, and he was trying to wake her. He'd gotten past the point where being gentle was even a consideration. "Swan. I know you find me oh-so-comfortable. But I'm in extraordinary pain right now and I cannot be your pillow."

"Oh god, Killian. I'm so sorry. She sat up lightning fast, and watched while he moved as quickly as he could to the restroom. When he returned, he found her gathering a comforter from her closet, and grabbing her pillow.

"What are you doing, love?"

"It's better if I sleep on the couch. This way I won't end up crushing you again."

"No, love, come here." He'd climbed back into bed, and patted the sheet next to him. "Lie down." Too tired to protest she curled up on her side, facing away from him. He settled in behind her, spooning his chest to her back, and wrapping his arm around her waist. "This works. This doesn't hurt." She closed her eyes and let herself relax. No, being married to him would not be terrible.

* * *

They were still in the same position when morning came. She craned her neck, hoping she could get a look at him without waking him up. She wasn't prepared to see his wide blue eyes already studying her face. Without even thinking, but still so tentatively, she pressed her lips to his. She started to break away, but he didn't allow it. His hand came up to cradle her head, and his lips chased hers, demanding more. It was a brief kiss, but it communicated so much. She rolled over in his arms and placed her hand over his heart.

They were lying face to face, foreheads pressed together, each trying to figure out where to start when Henry came barging into the room.

"Mom, Killian. My dad's here. He says he has tickets for the Hockey game and wants to spend the day with me.

Both Emma and Killian were out of bed in a flash, running out to the living room where Henry sat excitedly talking to Neal. She hated this. Every time. He would show up, unannounced with plans for a grand day.

Two year old Henry would cling to her neck, trying to keep the stranger from looking at him. Five year old Henry was easily bought off, happy to receive the trinkets Neal brought him. Eight year old Henry would come home elated that his dad was back, only to spend all day next to the front door waiting for the man who didn't come back. Ten year old Henry refused to see him, telling him he wasn't really his father. His father would have been there for him.

It was at least easier now. Thirteen year old Henry understood that Neal was unreliable, and learned to just enjoy the days when they came. But it didn't make Emma any less angry with him. Today was no better.

As soon as she walked into the living room she heard Neal's reaction to seeing Killian with her.

"This guy again? Why is this guy always around?"

"Because he has ALWAYS been around, Neal. You don't get to question anything in my life. Henry, go get ready while we talk." Henry knew what was best, and ran to get his shoes and bag. "Neal, we've talked about this. You can't just show up. I need notice. What if we had something planned?"

"What, do you have something planned? No. Henry already told me. I've got the day off. I figured I'd spend it with my kid. You can't tell me no."

"Technically I can tell you no. You have zero visitation rights. As long as Henry wants to spend time with you, I'll allow it. But could you just once let us know in advance? Seriously, how hard is that?"

Henry returned and Neal used this as his opening for them to leave before she could yell at him further. Henry came over and hugged his mom goodbye, knowing she needed it. His dad always put her on edge. But today, he also walked over to Killian and hugged him too. He looked him straight in the eyes with the briefest of nods. Killian nodded back. Henry needed to Killian to know that just because his biological father showed up, didn't mean he loved him any less.

Emma called to them as they walked out the door. "Henry, keep your phone on. If I call you, you answer. I mean it." Closing it behind them, she sighed.

"It will be fine, Emma. He knows now. He knows what his father is like."

"That man is not his father, Killian. He may have provided the genetic material, but he's not his father. He doesn't get that word." She wanted to add, _you do_.

"Your kid is lucky. His father wasn't around, but you were both. Father and mother. Henry knows it. You've raised a good kid."

"We've raised a good kid, Killian. And you know it. And Henry knows it. You're more his father than anyone else will ever be." She was glad to have her anger at Neal still coursing through her, or she would have turned into a mess of tears. She turned to Killian, and he hugged her close. No, being married to him would not be terrible.

* * *

The long awaited day of Mary Margaret and David Nolan's wedding had arrived. Years in the planning, it was a massive affair, and Emma's attendance was required early in the day for hair, makeup, photos, and everything else that Mary Margaret would require of her. She'd left Henry in Killian's care, telling them to text her the moment they arrived so she could run out and see Henry in his new suit.

She saw them standing in the hotel lobby, both with their ties hanging loose around their necks. She laughed, and went over to her boys.

"Killian says that you need to teach me how to do this so that next time I can tie his for him."

"Sorry guys, I didn't think about that."

"I tried to show him, Swan. But it's the kind of thing best learned while watching, and alas."

There were very few times Killian's missing left hand created any sort of issue, and she wasn't going to let today be one of them. After finishing with Henry's tie, she pulled him over and tied his as well. "No worries. You're both done now. And Henry, I'll teach you for next time. That way you can do Killian's too."

She looked them both over and her heart felt full. She wasn't prepared to see Henry looking quite so grown up.

A photographer walked by, and seeing that Emma was one of the wedding party stopped them all for a picture.

"Family photo?" Emma had no desire to correct him. Arms around each other's waists, and a hand each on Henry's shoulders the photo was taken. "Very nice. You have a good looking family."

Emma smiled at Killian and Henry and she had to laugh as Henry's response of ' _we know'_ earned him a light smack across the back of the head from Killian.

"I need to get back to Mary Margaret. I'm sure she's having a meltdown that I've stepped out for this long. It looks like Henry's already wandered off to find friends so you're off duty."

"It's never a duty, Emma." She smiled, knowing that he meant it. "You look absolutely stunning, love."

"You look…" She couldn't quite complete the sentence.

He just smirked. "I know."

"Killian, we should talk about…" He cut her off. They still hadn't discussed the kiss. They did need to talk about it, but the lobby of the banquet hall was no place for that discussion.

"I know. We will." He pressed a kiss to her cheek. "I'm not going anywhere, love. Now go find Mary Margaret before she explodes. I'm sure Robin and Will are around here somewhere."

She took one last second to pretend to straighten his tie, and then returned to the rooms. No, being married to him wouldn't be terrible.

* * *

Mary Margaret and David's wedding was a massive, lavish affair. Mary Margaret was determined that her wedding hold up to every fairy tale dream wedding she'd ever had. Couple that with the open personalities of the bride and groom, who never met a person they couldn't see the good in, and it was a very large fairy tale dream wedding.

As frustrated as Emma had been with Mary Margaret over the past year, she had to admit the result was beautiful. Catching Henry and Killian's eyes as she walked up the aisle she was happy to see that, despite their friends sitting scattered through the banquet room, they had chosen to sit together. Her boys, her men, together. She smiled and Henry shot back with a stuck out tongue, while Killian nodded and raised his eyebrow with a smile.

As she listened to Mary Margaret and David exchange their vows of commitment and the words of love, she kept sneaking looks back to Henry and Killian. Henry didn't seem to be paying much attention, but Killian's eyes were focused on her. Every time she looked his way, she found him watching. She knew, with every fiber of her being, that this was the man she couldn't do without. And today was the day she needed to tell him. Tears started to fall from her eyes, and she could tell everyone else that she was moved by the ceremony. But it was Killian.

* * *

He pulled Emma into his arms just as a slow song started.

"Do you ever see this for yourself?"

"A large wedding? No. This is too much fuss."

"I meant a wedding in general, Swan."

She just laughed and told him to keep leading.

When the DJ cut in to announce that it was time for the single ladies to gather on the floor for the bouquet toss, Emma glanced up at Killian for his reaction. He motioned that she should join the fray and so she did. Mary Margaret was surprised she didn't have to haul Emma out on the dance floor. She made sure to spot exactly where she was standing, so that she could ensure the bouquet went in the right direction.

To everyone's surprise, Emma actually reached up to grab it as it flew overhead. She looked towards Killian, and he shook his head with a smile. She returned to him, holding out her prize.

"I shouldn't be surprised, love. When you want something, you get it. I've never seen you fail." He pulled her back in for a dance as the music started again. "So, you're next, is that it?"

"To get married? Probably not."

"Why's that?"

"I think it's illegal to get married when you're already married." He nearly stopped, but just gripped her a little tighter, and kept dancing.

"You know?" He felt her nod against his shoulder. "And you're not angry?" This time it was a shake of her head. He pulled back, so he could look her in the eyes. All he saw was a smile, just for him.

"But it would be nice to have a ceremony that I remember."

"Yes, I'd like to think that marrying me is an event my wife would want to remember."

"And it would be nice to have our son be there."

He missed a beat before he could answer. "Yes, I think he would like that as well." She didn't say anything, but wiped away the lone tear that fell down his cheek. His smile was wide and teasing, but he couldn't help the tear of joy.

They looked over to where Henry was leading the young children in a makeshift conga line through the room. "He gets that from you, you know. I wouldn't be caught dead in a conga line."

"Oh, I'm well aware, love."

"I like that."

"What?"

"Love. It feels different now hearing you say it."

"I've meant it every time, Emma Swan."

He leaned down to kiss her, not caring that they were in the middle of the dance floor. It wasn't until they heard Henry, still leading the conga line pass them, that they broke apart.

"It's about bloody time," he said in a horrible imitation of his father's accent. "But could you please get a room."

* * *

Two weeks later Killian and Emma went to the courthouse with Henry as their only witness. Emma wore a simple dress. Henry tied their ties. On the way there, Killian left her on the sidewalk to go into a flower shop and pick out a bouquet.

It was perfect. With their son at their sides, they pledged to love each other and cherish each other. In sickness and in health. For richer or for poorer. He slipped a ring on her finger, and she on his.

Henry refrained from any comment when the judge said they could kiss, too happy that they were finally, officially, completely, a family.

They went home to order a pizza and curl up on the couch to watch a movie. Nothing much had changed, except that when bedtime rolled around, Killian and Emma retired to their room, telling Henry he needed to be in bed by midnight.

"Yes, Mom. Goodnight, Dad." None of them were ever going to get tired of hearing that.

As she snuggled down into the crook of his arm, pressing light kisses against any skin she encountered, she finally asked the question he'd waited for. "Tell me about our first wedding." He smiled.

 _High off their win, Emma and Killian ran through the halls of the hotel casino looking for the shops. She was determined to blow all of her winnings on something absolutely frivolous. Like a designer purse, or jewelry. He chased her, joking that half that money was his, and she better come back with their loot._

 _He caught up with her, spinning her around in his arms. Physical affection was easy when they'd had a few drinks to break down some of their barriers. He leaned down and kissed her, surprised when she pulled him in for more._

" _We should get married," she said, when they finally pulled apart._

" _What? You're insane."_

" _No, look. We should get married." She pointed to the sign. They were standing right in front of the chapel._

" _Swan, it's Vegas. We can't get married here."_

" _It's Vegas. I think that's what you're supposed to do here. Besides, I love you." She was adamant in her admission. "You love me, right?" He nodded, fully in agreement. "We should do it; we should stop being stupid, Killian. It's been thirteen years. I pushed you away because I was scared I would lose you when it all went wrong. I'm not scared anymore. I'm not going to ever lose you. Henry's not going to ever lose you."_

" _Never."_

" _See, we should get married." She kissed him again, releasing just a portion of the thirteen years of pent up love she had for him. And that was all it took._

 _He grabbed her hand and led her into the chapel._

 _It was late, and the officiant always tried to screen couples who seemed like they were doing this too spur of the moment. He wanted people to leave Vegas happy they got married, not regretful._

" _How long have you two been together."_

" _Thirteen years." She was smiling at Killian like he was everything._

" _Any kids?"_

" _Just one. Henry. He'll be thrilled we've finally done this."_

 _That was enough for the officiant. He could have a clear conscience about marrying these two. Rarely did he see the people getting married in his chapel look at each other with such love and devotion._

 _When they got to the part about the rings, Killian cut in. "We need to skip this part. Her ring is at home, and I refuse to use any substitute."_

" _You have a ring for me?"_

" _It was my mother's. It's been your's since the day we met." Emma couldn't wait any longer. She grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him toward her, pressing her lips to his. Neither paid any attention to the officiant's calls of "we're not there yet."_

 _He finally gave up and declared them husband and wife. They'd said the I Dos, and who was he to stand in the way of true love. They signed the necessary paperwork to turn into the state, posed for photos, and he handed them a bottle of champagne and two glasses. It was all part of the package._

* * *

AN - I didn't let my betas finish with this (and it is drastically improved by the work they have done so far! thanks kat2609 and the-captains-ayebrows!,) so all mistakes are my own. I just thought, "Killian's dead and everyone seems to be upset, so I want to put something happy and nice out there to cheer us up. Hopefully you enjoy."


	14. Chapter 14

Emma Swan - resident NYE curmudgeon, finds herself working the NYE shift at Granny's with Killian Jones, who has ideas about enjoying the holiday. Un-beta'd

* * *

It wasn't that Emma Swan hated New Year's Eve. It was that she loathed New Year's Eve. Navigating crowds of drunks determined to make it the Best. Night. Ever, like the date somehow had magical powers, was her idea of hell on Earth. An event to be avoided at all costs.

Working at Granny's served as a refuge. No one would choose to spend their New Year's at a dingy bar if they thought that the New Year was really going to be a life changing night. Queue Emma happily volunteering to work on New Year's Eve every single year, serving the same drinks to the same customers she would have served any other night of the year.

New Year's Eve was usually slightly slower than any other night, and tonight was no different. Only four of the cracked vinyl stools were occupied, and by regulars. Emma kept the the bar's jukebox at a low volume, thanking God that none of the patrons had bothered to select any songs, leaving the soundtrack for the night up to her. She turned the one, ancient TV to a station doing the ball drop in New York City. At least she could keep an eye on the time, counting down the hours until she could go home.

Wiping the non-existent spills from the bartop, she wondered where Granny actually was. Granny, just as much of a New Year's curmudgeon as herself, was good company. And Emma, not exactly a 'tell me about your troubles' kind of bartender, preferred to chat with the old lady over the patons. Although tonight's crowd, mostly comprised of local miners who would be there regardless of the night, would be more likely to need her to break up a fight than to listen to their troubles. The number of customers certainly didn't warrant having two bartenders on duty, but Granny never liked anyone closing alone.

She shivered slightly as she felt a cold gust of air as the front door opened. Looking up, she expected to see Granny enter, and was surprised to see one of the other regular bartenders instead.

Surprised, oh but certainly not disappointed.

With his strong jaw, blue eyes and tight jeans, Emma Swan never understood why Killian Jones chose to work at the dive that was Granny's. Even one handed, well one hand and one very versatile prosthetic, he was the best bartender she'd ever worked with. He could be raking in tips over at the Rabbit Hole. The townies there would eat him up, and line his pockets at the same time. Granny's clientele couldn't give two shits about just how artfully disheveled his dark hair might have been, or the lilt of his voice, or the suggestive rise of his eyebrows.

Not that Emma was paying attention. Or not that she'd admit. To anyone else.

She'd fallen for him the day he'd walked in and suckered Granny into hiring him. Not that Granny took much convincing. She was a sucker for those tight jeans and blue eyes. And the flirtation. 'You've got to live a little, Emma. And if I were younger...' Emma would just roll her eyes and wander off to the other end of the bar when Granny started talking about Killian Jones in the 'you should find out what you're missing' kind of way.

Emma thought a lot about what she might be missing. There'd been more than a few occasions when Leroy had to throw a peanut or two to snap her out of whatever daydream she found herself in when Killian Jones was working the other side of the bar. Knowing Leroy she was always lucky it wasn't his glass.

So tonight, when she saw his face lit by the one strand of old, crappy, colored Christmas lights they'd strung up as a concession to the season, her heart hit the wall of her chest. She hadn't prepared herself for Killian Jones tonight.

"What are you doing here?"

"Lovely evening to you too, lass. Granny found herself under the weather, and Ruby said she couldn't possibly cancel her plans, so Granny asked if I'd be willing to keep the lovely Emma Swan company on our busiest night of the year." He motioned to their four customers, to indicate that he knew just how much Emma actually needed the help.

Emma rolled her eyes, more at Granny than at him. "I could have handled it."

"That I know, Swan. But when Granny says, 'get your ass to work, Jones.' I make sure I'm at work. You know as well as I do that she is not a woman to be crossed."

"Sorry you had to cancel your plans." Emma didn't know why she was apologizing. It's not like it was her fault he had to come in. In fact, that was one of the other reasons she liked working New Year's Eve. It always left the other bartenders, who actually cared about the holiday, free to do their own thing.

"No plans to cancel, Swan. It was spend the night at home on the couch with Rum and the TV or here with you. And I'm sure you won't tell if I sneak in a shot or two?" He winked as he pulled out a bottle of Granny's favorite Rum, the one she knew he snuck shots of, and helped himself to a tumbler. He motioned to her with the bottle and a raised eyebrow, silently questioning if she'd like some, and she only had to hesitate for a moment and he'd poured her a glass.

"So, how did you get stuck with New Year's Eve duty, Swan?" he questioned after he clinked their glasses together in a toast.

"I volunteered."

He stared at her in disbelief. "This is how you choose to ring in your new year? This is depressing."

She shrugged. "It's a garbage holiday. A bunch of people getting drunk thinking their life is going to change because of the date? Setting goals they immediately break because they wake up in the new year hungover as shit? It's no different from any other day of the year. Nothing magical happens just because you need to buy a new calendar."

"Hmmm…" He let the thought die, without continuing it.

"Hmmm, what?"

"Well, love. You are missing the best part of New Year's Eve?"

"Yeah, what's that?"

"Why, the kiss at midnight, of course."

She'd never been more grateful for the call of a customer than she had been at that moment. Leroy's less than polite 'Hey, sister, a little service' would have been impossible to ignore anyway. She turned immediately to help him, hoping that she was quick enough to avoid Killian noticing the spread of crimson she felt on her cheeks. The thought of the kiss at midnight hadn't even occurred to her until he mentioned it. It had been years, literally years, since she'd spent her New Year's Eve with someone she would even consider kissing, let alone actively wanted to kiss.

She poured Leroy another draft, and took her time washing his used glass. Anything to keep from having to return to Killian. But he wouldn't let her avoid him for too long. He was by her side again after a few minutes, towel at the ready to dry the freshly washed glassware.

"So, you were going to stay home and watch TV? Really, no plans?" She decided to turn the tables around on him.

He shrugged. "My brother and I used to watch action movies and order a pizza on New Year's every year. It's what I do now, even though he's gone."

Sidestepping the comment about his brother, not knowing how to respond to such a personal bit of information, she asked "Point Break or Bad Boys II?"

"Both!" He seemed stunned that she would question that he wouldn't have both.

She smiled. "Good answer."

* * *

Killian Jones had never planned on working at Granny's. New to town, he had a job lined up at the Rabbit Hole just down the street. But Killian Jones had no intention of celebrating his new job _at_ his new job, and stepped into the dive for a drink.

And that's when he saw Emma Swan behind the bar, long golden hair, gorgeous figure, and a face that would put angels to shame. Yes, she was beautiful, but it was when he watched her threaten to literally bum rush someone if they didn't behave that he was a goner. He had no doubt that she could, and would, follow through on her threat. He needed to know more.

He found himself returning to the bar the next day enquiring about a job. He'd never questioned his choice. Sure, maybe the money wasn't quite the same, but the old lady was more than decent, and his co-workers quickly became friends. The only nut he'd yet to crack was Emma Swan.

And not for lack of trying. He counted any of their joint shifts a success when he could make her smile, truly smile. One that reached her eyes. But still, there was a wall. Oh, he'd moved a stone here or there, but he knew there was more she didn't want him to see.

So when Granny called, telling him to "get his ass down to the bar to keep Emma company so she's not alone on New Year's" he took it as a sign and got his ass down to the bar. He could drink and watch action movies and remember his brother any other night just as well. Keeping Emma company at midnight on New Year's? Well, there was only one shot at that a year.

Finding out that Emma didn't exactly subscribe to the holiday was not part of the plan.

It was 11:45. He'd already brought up the kiss at midnight, and gotten no reaction once. Time was starting to slip by, with no suitable way to broach the subject again.

Until Leroy became his savior.

"So, sister, which one of us are you going to kiss?"

Emma rolled her eyes at him, and didn't even deign to answer, walking away towards where Killian stood with his back to the bar.

"I'm going to need another drink, aren't I?"

"Well, yes. Some liquid fortitude might be in order if you're to tackle a midnight kiss with Leroy. But I would hope you wouldn't need alcohol if you were to choose a devilishly handsome fellow such as myself?"

"Seriously?" He wasn't looking at her, but he could feel the eyeroll.

He turned to face her. "Look, Swan. It's bad luck not to kiss someone at midnight. I'm not going into 2016 with that hanging over my head. I'm thinking Doc over there might be my best best bet since you're so unwilling. He's going to protest, but he'll thank me for it when the year is done."

Of course he was kidding, but he loved nothing more than getting a rise out of Emma Swan. And it was working.

"You're not going to kiss poor Doctor Grove!"

"You'll have to stop me." He bumped her shoulder with his, and looked at her with raised eyebrows. If he didn't know better, he could have sworn he could see a blush rise on her cheeks.

"What's this about it being bad luck not to kiss someone? I've never heard that one before."

"Just because you've not heard it doesn't mean it's not true."

She shook her head and gave him a half smile. "I'm going to the back room to check stock. I'm pretty sure you can handle them out here by yourself."

As soon as the hinged door flapped closed behind her he threw back his head and sighed.

"Yeah, good luck with that one." It was Leroy of course.

But it was New Year's Eve. And if there were ever a night for going for what you want, it was New Year's Eve.

"Don't you dare touch that tap," he called over his shoulder as he followed her into the store room, and heard an 'Aye aye, captain' from the bar.

He found her standing there, almost as if she expected him. They both stood for a moment, just looking at each other. Finally he crossed until he was standing right in front of her.

"Emma." He looked down, and she bit her lip, closing her eyes and shaking her head. He repeated, "Emma," again, and this time, she peaked up at him through her lashes, lip still firmly between her teeth. Nervous. This was the first time he had ever seen Emma Swan nervous.

"Ten…"

"Nine…"

The countdown started from the other room, the sound amplified by the four patrons counting down to no discernible change in their collective lives. But Killian could not have appreciated their excitement more.

"Eight…"

"Emma?"

She nodded, almost imperceptibly, and he couldn't wait. Midnight be dammed.

He leaned down and caught her lips in his, just as she released her lip from her own teeth. He was tempted to bite it himself, but didn't want to press her too much, too fast.

Kissing Emma Swan was everything he'd ever imagined, and he never wanted it to stop. And he certainly didn't expect her lips to chase his when he broke away for some air. But he took this as an opening for more, and instinct did not let him down. When he felt her lips press against his again, this time harder, more demanding, he took his queue and steered her towards the work counter, pressing her back up against the ledge. He found her hips, and easily lifted her light frame up, sitting her in front of him. With one glance, she spread her legs so he could step between her knees, and they were pressed together again.

It wasn't until the voices from the other room grew louder that the appropriateness of the location started to sink in, and they pulled back. Both were breathing heavily, and leaned their foreheads together.

"See, Emma. It's good luck to kiss someone at midnight."

She smiled, and he could see it in her eyes. "Hmm. How do you figure?"

"Oh, I think 2016 is going to be a very good year indeed. It's already been much better than 2015." She laughed, and rested her head on his shoulder, but quickly pushed him away so she could run her hands through her hair and try to straighten her shirt.

"Wait five minutes, then you can come out. I do not want any shit from any of them out there about this." He was smiling like he'd just won the lottery. "Seriously, Killian. Wipe the smile off your face and then you can come out." She tried looking stern, but it didn't work. He pulled her to him, wrapping his arm around her waist and dropping another kiss on her lips.

"Sorry, love. I'll be the model of decorum when I join you. Just give me a moment." There was no smile on her lips, but he could see it in her eyes. He wouldn't be the one who gave them away.

He watched the door flap behind her, and again heard Leroy.

"Hey, sister. Buy us a round and we won't tell Granny about what we know just happened back there."

What surprised him was her reply.

"Granny's been trying to get me to kiss him since she hired the moron, so please, go ahead. Tell her. I'll probably get a raise."


	15. A Birthday at the Museum

He knew where to find her. After hours, in the dim lights when the crowds were gone and the halls and galleries were silent.

Her black docent's uniform in stark contrast to the white walls, on the lone bench in the Dutch gallery, deep in contemplation. It was always the same painting; a mother and father gazing in adoration at their blonde daughter, smiles on both their faces. It wasn't one of the great masters, but was considered to be a wonderful example of the lighting techniques at the time, as well as an accurate representation of the domestic life of the era.

He knew just enough of her story to know why she would be drawn to this painting.

What he couldn't understand why she continued to do this to herself. To remind herself of what she didn't have, instead of focusing on what could be hers if she would only reach out and take it, accepting the family that he, Mary Margaret, David and so many of their friends would so happily be for her.

He shuffled his feet in warning, as not to scare her as he joined her, and she greeted him without even turning around.

"Hello, Killian."

"Happy birthday, love."

Circling the bench, he sat down next to her and waited for her to speak.

"It's not my birthday."

"But Mary Margaret and Dave said…"

"I know," she responded with a gentle sigh. It took another deep breath before she could continue. "It's the date that was assigned as my birthday, as the best guess. I was abandoned at the fire station. They think I was about 5 days old, so they just guessed that today was my birthday. But I've never really known."

This was new information, and another piece of Emma Swan. The hurt went further than he ever known. But he had no intention of letting her dwell on that tonight.

"That doesn't mean we can't celebrate."

At this, she finally looked at him, and noticed the sole cupcake, with the blue star candle placed on top. The tiny smile he saw at the corner of her mouth, along with the brief flash of delight in her tear stained eyes gave him hope that his plan would work. He put the cupcake down on the bench in order to retrieve the book of matches from his pocket.

"I'm afraid it's poor form to ask the lady to light her own birthday candle, but matches have never been my friend, and there was no lighter to be found."

Horror at an open flame in the gallery completely shook her out of her reflection. "You can't light a candle in here!"

"Relax, love. I've been assured that one solitary birthday candle will not trigger the fire systems, and Leroy has promised to look the other way on the video monitors, and perhaps even lose the tapes. Now... light your candle. You need to make your wish." He lifted the plate up with his hand, and stared her directly in the eyes, challenging her to defy him.

Emma looked around, as though about to commit the most heinous of crimes, but gave in and struck the match, holding the fire to the wick. Killian couldn't take his eyes off her face as she screwed her eyes up and concentrated on her wish, and finally, with the most determined of breaths, made her wish.

* * *

This will be a part of a larger fic, but I felt like I needed to get my juices flowing again, and was happy with this outcome. Hopefully you like it and will want to read the whole thing. (It will be a one-shot! no more multi-chapters for me!)


	16. Chapter 16

You're about to get hit with a bunch of drabbles based on word prompts from tumblr - sorry not sorry - hope you enjoy!

* * *

 **Word - Extricate**

She hung up the phone with a concerned expression, and the next thing he heard was "Killian, can you hold him please?"

He wasn't exactly given a choice as Snow dropped Emma's younger brother into his arms and rushed out the front door. Sitting alone with the baby, he saw no way to extricate himself from his current situation.

"Your Highness," he called after her, hoping he could catch her before she got too far away. But she was down the stairs and out of the building before he even could even stand up from the sofa.

He looked down at the squirming bundle in his arms and was at a loss. "Well, lad. It looks like I'm stuck with you." The boy smiled at his voice, and Killian couldn't help but smile back. "This is what I get for coming over to wait for your sister to get home from work. I get stuck with you." The boy started to laugh, and he realized the more he talked the more of a reaction he got from the lad. "You're a squirmy one, aren't you? "

He stood the boy up and let him stand in his lap as he'd seen Emma do many times, letting the boy bounce up and down on his thighs. The boy continued to laugh, and Killian forgot he was even nervous, talking to the boy as though he expected answers.

"Look at you. I can see a bit of your sister in you. You have the same eyes. You're going to be a heartbreaker when you grow up. Just like her. Maybe you'll give your parents less trouble than she has. Not fall in love with a scoundrel like me. Maybe a nice princess, grow up and run the kingdom for your parents. Her majesty and Dave will like that. A right proper prince. But one who can sail. I'll make sure you know your way around a ship."

He became so immersed in talking to the boy he didn't even notice Emma enter until she sat down next to him on the sofa, wrapping her arm around his back.

"So, bonding with my brother. Who knew, Killian Jones - scourge of the seas - has a soft spot for babies."

He looked slightly embarrassed. "I admit, love. This might be the first time I've ever held a child. It's not as scary as I thought. He's quite a good lad. We've become fast friends."

She smiled at him, and nuzzled into his side, reaching out to hold her brother's hand.

"Well Killian Jones, I certainly hope this won't be the last time you ever hold a child."


	17. Chapter 17

**Word - Flocculent**

"I need a haircut, Swan."

"NO!" She looked at him in horror. She'd gotten used to his longer hair, and wasn't quite ready for him to sheer it just yet. "Why?"

"It's looking a bit flocculent, don't you think?"

Emma stayed quiet, not knowing what flocculent meant. Her GED provided vocabulary never quite matched the 300 year old pirate's.

"Ummm, I kind of like it." She stood behind him at the mirror as he assessed his mane, and started running her fingers through the longer locks, working her fingers into his scalp. His eyes closed, and she heard a slight moan escape as she deepened the massage. "See, doesn't this feel good?"

"You can't do this when I have shorter hair, love?"

"Maybe I won't want to do this when you have shorter hair?"

He dropped his head back to her shoulder, fully giving in to her ministrations. "Then forget the haircut. I heard Henry talk about man buns. I think I'll grow it so I can wear one of those."

"Let me get my keys. I think Super Cuts is open."


	18. Chapter 18

**Word - Obstreperous**

"Killian, where are you calling me from? You sound funny."

"The Widow Lucas' freezer." Emma sighed. There was no good explanation that could possibly follow. "She said I was being obstreperous and needed to cool off."

"Did Granny use that word or is that you showing off your vocabulary?"

"Would you just come get me, Emma? Now is not the time," he replied, thoroughly annoyed. The cold was doing nothing for his temper.

She hung up laughing, knowing she'd get the full story from Granny once she got to the diner.

When she arrived, Granny immediately greeted her with a plate of onion rings and a warm grilled cheese. "So my freezer does get cellphone coverage. I wondered about that but figured I'd be prepared just in case."

"What he'd do Granny?"

"Well, it's more like what did he and your father do? I don't know how it started, but your captain there did not like your father beating him in arm wrestling."

She chuckled. No, that would not have gone over well. Not at all. She finished up her lunch before heading back to the cooler and unlocking it. The additional time inside had done nothing to improve Killian's mood.

"Swan, I thought you were supposed to respond to citizen's distress calls in a timely manner. I can smell the onion rings from here. You let Lady Lucas feed you before you unlocked me?"

"You've been in far worse brigs than this one, Captain. Now come along. Tell me what happened."

"Your father obviously cheated, Swan. That's what happened. No way did Dave win that ridiculous contest without cheating."

She looked at her pirate boyfriend with a raised eyebrow, taking a page out of his book. "Killian, have you seen my father?" She couldn't believe she needed to discuss her father's physique with her boyfriend. "He actually works out. When's the last time you lifted anything heavier than your flask?"

"Is that a challenge, Swan? I seem to remember a time I carried something significantly heavier than my flask."

And with that, she was lifted off her feet, tossed over his shoulder, and whisked up the hallway, to the room that a certain pirate knew he could most definitely pick the lock.

He'd like to see her father do that.


	19. Chapter 19

**Word - Liam**

"And this one?"

It was a lazy Sunday, and Emma was finally getting some much needed rest, cloistered in the dim of the Captain's cabin of the Jolly Roger. She and Killian were lying in bed, and after examining the scar left by Excalibur, she started cataloging all the other marks, 300 years of stories marring his flesh.

He tilted his head up to see exactly which scar she was referring to.

"Ah, attempted mutiny. He's no longer with us. Well, of course that was long ago, but he was forced to walk the plank after his attempt to take my life and my ship."

Her finger traced down from his flat stomach, down his hip bone, to his upper thigh, to a long white line.

"This one?"

He knew from her touch exactly which one. And she could tell from his response that she'd touched a nerve.

"What's wrong, Captain? Someone get the better of you?" She peeked up, and rested her chin on his chest gazing at his face as he went beet red.

"It wasn't a fair fight, Swan." She wanted to laugh. He looked affronted, the pout on his face made him look so young. "He thought he was doing me a favor, teaching me how to fight with a dagger, but instead he stabbed me."

She burst out laughing. "So we've all stabbed you then. Me, Liam. My dad. It's the ones who love you most Killian."

"It doesn't help, Swan. It hurts. Every time."

She smoothed back his hair and placed a kiss on his forehead.

"I'm sure it does, Killian. But I need to warn you. Watch your back around Henry if he's got a knife."


	20. Chapter 20

**Word - Coffee**

"JESUS, JONES! I'm supposed to be incognito here." She nearly jumped out of her skin when he knocked on the window of her bug.

"You need to rethink your choice in transport then, Swan. Hazard yellow doesn't exactly say, "ignore me. I'm not here." He said, handing her a cup of coffee through the window. "Want company?"

She shrugged, accepting the steaming cup from his hand. She was bored out of her mind but would never admit that she would prefer his company over sitting alone, waiting for her skip to appear.

"Catch any bad guys tonight?"

"Yes, quite a few. Gave them your card for bail of course."

She nodded, sipping at her coffee. Theirs was a symbiotic relationship. He directed people to her, future clients so to speak. In turn, he could rely on her anytime he needed to use less than legal methods to solve any of his cases.

"Who are we waiting for tonight?" He eyed the door as intensely as she was, as though he could will it to open.

"It's a long shot, but a guy named Felix. Low level dealer. He's supposed to be here tonight."

"Felix Smith?"

"Yeah, why? How did you know?"

"Brought him in today on drug charges. He won't be showing up here any time soon."

"Fuck." Her head dropped to the steering wheel. Losing him meant losing a substantial bounty. "Well doesn't that just suck."

"MMM, but Swan. Now you're free for the night, and instead of sitting in this cramped little car, you can let me take you home, and take care of you properly."

She looked up and saw that the look on his face matched the innuendo laced words. The car grew very hot all of the sudden. And she started the engine.

"Well, I guess since we have nothing better to do."

And that's the night their relationship became symbiotic in more ways than one.


	21. Chapter 21

**Word - Exsanguinate**

"But I'm about to exsanguinate over here."

"It's just a flesh wound. Stop acting like I stabbed you.'

"BLOODY HELL, EMMA. YOU DID STAB ME."

She rolled her eyes. Okay, technically she HAD stabbed him, but it had been an accident, and the paring knife had barely penetrated his bicep. And it had been his fault for turning around too fast in her too small kitchen. And for being in there while she was cooking in the first place.

"Okay, okay. Would a band aid make it better, you big baby?"

"I'm the one who gets stabbed, and you act like I'm being unreasonable? I'm bleeding here."

She dragged him into the bathroom and sat him down on the toilet, pulling her first aid kit from under the sink. "Here, sit still." She mopped up the blood before taking an alcohol wipe to the site where she'd impaled him and then stuck a bandaid over the cut.

He looked down at the pink plastic covering his arm. "Who's that red fellow?" She smiled, glad she had the band aids left over from days gone by, when Henry's wound care required more decoration than just beige strips.

"Elmo. I figure if you're going to act like a baby, you get a band aid meant for one."


	22. Chapter 22

Expecting to see her neighbor, she was ill-prepared to see _him_ — dark hair, clear, brilliant blue eyes shining with happiness and hope.

"Swan."

Instinct kicked in and she moved to close the door on her past, but his reflexes were faster and his foot between the door and the frame prevented her from shutting him out entirely.

"It's not Swan anymore."

"Oh yes, Emma Nolan. You're not the only one who's good at finding people.

* * *

"Emma!" She groaned as she continued down the hall, and threw a quick, "Hey Ruby" over her shoulder. She hoped the woman would take the hint and not follow, but the sound of footsteps as they quickly approached let her know she was in no such luck.

"I saw that hot piece of ass leaving last night. What's wrong with you? Too much for you to handle? I would have come over and helped, you know."

Oh, Emma knew. Ruby lived with her grandmother, and having the (albeit quite lively) 65 year old woman as a roommate was certainly putting a damper on her plan to sleep her way through the single population of Boston. More nights than Emma was comfortable with, she would come home to find Ruby and a guest, making use of her couch. If Granny put up any complaints on the volume of Emma's bedroom TV on those nights, well, she'd be more than happy to send the amourous couple back next door.

"Just a blast from the past, who needs to stay there."

Ruby just shook her head, allowing Emma the opportunity to close the door before being questioned any further.

Emma had been doing nothing since the previous night except trying to stifle memories. But the man, well boy then, had been such a central part of her formative years, that seeing him brought everything that she fought so hard to forget right back to the forefront.

* * *

He'd been her best friend until it all went south.

An orphan himself, only cared for by his much older brother, he understood her in a way their other friends couldn't. When she had arrived in Storybrooke at the age of 13, ready to run from her tenth foster home in ten years, he was a large factor in what kept her there, anchored in the best possible way. His wit, his patience, and his quiet support showed her that you didn't need to have family to have people who would stay at your side through anything.

A sullen teenager, she often wondered what Ruth, her then foster-mother, and eventual adoptive mother, saw in her. Killian was the one who connected, who wouldn't let her hide behind her years of pain. And over the years she, her foster brother David, Killian, and their friend Snow, became an unbreakable unit.

The problems had started her junior year, when her boyfriend, her first boyfriend, Neal, had come between them. As an adult, when she couldn't keep herself from looking back, she would admit that it was her fault. She made the mistake of letting her adoration of Neal, the rich, older boy, crowd out all of her other relationships: David, Snow, and especially Killian. He'd called her out on it, repeatedly. Told her it wasn't that he didn't like Neal (he didn't), and that it wasn't that he was jealous (he was). But that they deserved her attention too. They missed her.

And now that she was older, wiser, and could spot a con from a mile off, she should have seen it. His pleas, the guilt. It wasn't right. _Baby, we don't need to hang out with your friends. I just want you. We're enough, right? Aren't I enough? Come'on. Let's just make it the two of us._ And for the orphan who'd been abandoned at the side of the road as an infant, the attention was addictive. She fed off of it. And he fed on her.

It took too long for her to realize. The guilt she felt over that now was unbearable. If only she'd known who he really was, if she'd been able to protect herself, to keep him away, she'd have been okay. Instead, she gave herself over to him, and would pay the price for the rest of her life. She was alone, far from everyone she loved. It was best this way. It's what she deserved for letting him in. For letting him get close. For not listening to her friends and for dragging them down with her.

She'd finally done the right thing, and broken up with him right before her senior year started. It all came to a head when she got a glimpse of who he really was. She saw him living off his father's money. No plans for his future. Yet another dig at Killian for joining the Navy to provide for his. That was what really did it. There had been no love lost between her boyfriend and her best friend, and seeing Neal mock the boy who grew up an orphan, with only his older brother as a guardian, both struggling to make ends meet, while he had every luxury at his disposal, was enough.

Knowing the consequence of her action, she would have done it again. Only she would have watched her back.

The night before Killian was to leave Storybrooke to meet his ship, they all went out to celebrate: Snow, David, Emma, and Killian. It was bittersweet. They were saying goodbye to one of their number for she didn't know how long.

Of course they'd discussed it. She knew why he had to leave, unwilling to be a drain on his brother for any longer, the Navy was providing for his future. She had been the first one he'd told, coming to her smiling and picking her up in a crushing hug, when he had been accepted and found out he'd would be sailing on the ship he wanted. She was happy for him, knowing if she had the means to provide for her future in the same way, so as not to be a burden on Ruth, she'd take it in a heartbeat. But she had to stay behind and finish high school, and had yet to develop any plan for life past graduation.

She grew more somber as the night continued, as the reality of Killian's departure started to sink in. Snow and David were full of plans for their future, talking about getting married as soon as they graduated and finding a college where they'd both be accepted. But the reality that she would be all alone, again, hit her. They didn't need her. Killian would leave, finding adventure and forgetting her. She couldn't fault him. She knew his reasons. Snow and David had each other. She began to realize that this home she thought she'd found had only been temporary.

Not too many places in Storybrooke were available for late night shenanigans, but they had spent their night down at the shore, drinking a few beers, huddled under blankets, until the cold sent them to their respective homes. She'd never have left his side if she'd known that was the last time she would ever see him. David left to drive Snow home, and Emma climbed up into the cab of Killian's brother's truck, knowing he'd give her a ride. She almost couldn't bear to look at him, knowing in just moments it would be goodbye.

"Come see me tomorrow, Emma. Please?" His voice was almost a whisper as they sat in the driveway, as though he needed to be quiet to keep from waking up the neighborhood. But it wasn't fear of waking the neighbors that kept him quiet. It was fear of finally exposing his feelings. "I know it's late, and I'm leaving early. But please. I want you to be the last person I see before I leave." He reached over to push a lock of hair off of her cheek, and she nuzzled her head into his hand, silently nodding in agreement. His eyes were pleading, but didn't need to be. She had wanted to ask if she could see him off, but didn't know if it would only make it harder. Something in her response must have emboldened him, because for the first time in all of their years of friendship he leaned over, and kissed her, softly, tenderly, but with promise. They were silent, foreheads pressed together, both lost in thought before Emma finally stepped out of the car and closed the door quietly, hoping not to wake Ruth. She turned back to look at him more times than she could count before reaching the front door, and he never took his eyes off of her, not until the door closed behind her, and the front porch light switched off.

That was the last night of her idyllic life in Storybrooke. The last night that she felt like it was home.

She woke early the next morning, readying herself to face whatever their relationship was to become, a glimmer of hope that maybe there was a future for her there. Only the blue and red lights in her rear view mirror never let her make it to the bus stop.

The police were waiting for her. The warrant was filled out. The watch was found tucked under the back seat. She was taken in and questioned for hours before they'd even let her make a call. Ruth, David and Snow all arrived, stricken with concern, questions. They knew it was a lie. That she'd been framed. But when the richest, most powerful man in town's property is found in a foster kid's car, there's little to be done. Ruth couldn't afford the kind of lawyer who could defeat Mr. Gold's. And in the courtroom, there was Neal. Looking smug. She knew, oh she knew what he'd done. And from the look on his face, Mr. Gold did too. Better to have the foster kid he always considered to be beneath his son go to jail for his son's crime. She always wondered who Neal owed money to this time. But it didn't matter. She was done. Guilty in the eyes of all of Storybrooke. And she couldn't stand the guilt of knowing that the town blamed Ruth for bringing the orphan into their fold.

Oh Ruth, David, and Snow said they believed her. But her adoptive mother had wiped out her meager savings, David's college fund at that, on Emma's defense, and for nothing. Emma still ended up with a two year sentence. She couldn't take the guilt she felt during their weekly visits. She couldn't look at either of them knowing Ruth was working two jobs and that David had postponed college for her. All for nothing. But they wouldn't give up on her, so when she was transferred to Phoenix due to overcrowded jails in Maine she thought it for the best. Better that they forget her. Better to throw their letters in the trash. To let them continue with their lives without her dragging them down further.

It was months before _his_ first letter arrived. Sitting in the jail cell in Phoenix, his handwriting jumped out immediately. She smiled at first, remembering how many notes she'd been passed in class in this same flawless script so unlike anyone else's. Where he had learned to write like that she'd never found out, but it was one of those things that was so innately Killian.

She clutched the envelope for days, debating on whether she would open it. She knew what it would contain. His reaction to her not showing up that morning to see him off. The story of how he found out what happened. His absolute belief in her innocence, and a vow to get revenge on both father and son. She thought back to their kiss, and remembered the promise it held. If the letter contained any allusions to that night, she knew she wouldn't be strong enough to do what she needed, to cut them off, to remove herself from them, to let them forget. So the letter went out in the trash. Along with every one of his letters until the day she was released.

The first few years were hard. No high school diploma. A jail record. No one she would let herself rely on for help. Minimum wage jobs barely allowing her to keep the lights on and food on the table. Eventually she got her GED. But the name, Emma Swan, and the record, those followed everywhere she went.

Emma Nolan however, Emma Nolan didn't have a record. All she needed was a few pieces of paperwork Ruth had stored. All it would take was was one call. One helping hand. Letting herself rely on one person, just once, she told herself.

He came through, swearing not to share her secret with anyone as long as she always told him where she was. Eventually she let him tell Snow, and the contact turned into birthday cards and email. She always updated them if she moved. Boston had at least become, if not home, a place to exist.

And now, now… The past had found her.

* * *

Physically, there was very little left of the boy she knew in the man standing before her. Oh, the hair and the eyes were the same, that twinkle of amusement. The smirk and lift of the eyebrow. He'd grown taller, broader. And more handsome. But the years had hardened him in ways she couldn't describe. There was an edge to his words.

"So all these years, you've been speaking with Snow and David. It's just me you needed to avoid. That's it?"

He walked right in, as though she'd invited him, and appraised her living room. There wasn't much to see. Emma had never been much on decorating, preferring to keep herself to herself.

"You never answer any of my letters, disappear without a trace after you're released, and 10 years after the fact I find out you've been living 350 miles away, a day's drive, Emma. Without a word."

She'd watched him as he paced, letting him get out his speech, as he'd clearly rehearsed it on his drive. Hands in his pockets, he finally plopped down on her couch, without a word.

"You don't understand, Killian," she said, shaking her head.

"Clearly." He waited for her to continue, but when she offered nothing further he prodded her. "Explain, by all means, please."

"It's better this way."

"For whom, love? Snow? David? They miss you, Emma. I can tell that all the time. And that's before I knew they were in contact with you. For me?" That was paired with a bitter laugh. "For you? Look around. This doesn't look like a life, love." At that, he had pulled his left hand out of his pocket and gestured around the room, and she noticed what was missing.

"Your hand! Killian!"

"I think you mean, 'Where's your hand?' But yes, obviously not attached. That went along with my service in the Navy. If you'd read my letters you'd know. But that's not a story for today. I'm here to talk about you. To find out why you never came back? Why you didn't tell us where you were? Or at least me, Emma. What did I ever do?"

She couldn't look at him. She just repeated, "It's better this way Killian. I messed everything up. You're all better off this way."

He looked at her and realized she truly believed it. She believed that whatever happened 10 years ago was her fault, and that she deserved this exile as punishment.

"Love, what are you talking about? We're not better off without you." He was by her side in a flash. "We, all of us, David, Snow, Ruth, me, we want you back. We need you in our lives, love. You're part of us."

"You don't need me. It's been 10 years. You're fine. You're all fine. And now, you don't have to deal with the stain of the little thief as your friend. Believe me, it's better."

He started laughing. "Emma, I doubt that anyone would really think about your supposed past misdeed now. Neal's the town drunk. Gold died years ago, and he's gambled away every last cent of his daddy's money. I shouldn't be proud of this, but I am. I beat him to a bloody pulp, one handed at that, love. When I came home and found out what he'd done. He walks with just as much of a limp as Gold ever did. If anyone deserves to go to jail, it's me for that."

She'd stayed firm, but his laugh almost did her in. As bitter as it was, laughing as he recollected the night he tracked down the man and finally took out his revenge for every wrong doing he'd ever committed against Emma, she hadn't heard anything so wonderful in ages.

"You shouldn't have done that."

"You shouldn't have run away."

They sat just looking at each other. It was an impasse. Neither willing to budge an inch.

"They shouldn't have told you where I was. They were wrong to do that."

"Oh don't blame David and Snow, love. I was house sitting for them and checked the mail. That's what you get for sending Snow a birthday card. You can change your name, but you can't change your handwriting. Return address, darling."

She groaned. Of course it was something as small as that. She gave herself away. Again, silence.

"Don't you miss us? We miss you, every day. Every single day."

"No." She shook her head, and looked him dead in the eyes. "No. I don't."

"You're a liar, Emma Swan. For someone who can spot a liar, you're not very good at it yourself."

They sat looking at each other, each taking in the changes the years had brought, neither disappointed. Emma wouldn't speak, not without being prompted, knowing anything she said he'd use as ammunition against her. Killian was silent, trying to determine what course was best with the woman whose stubbornness had only increased with age.

Minutes passed. And it was Killian who spoke first.

"I can't convince you to come home with me, can I?"

She shook her head. "That isn't my home, Killian."

"It is. You don't know it, but it is." He stood and crossed over, standing in front of the chair where she was seated. "I'll leave you for now, but don't think this is over, Emma love."

With that, he leaned over and kissed her cheek and left, without even waiting for a response.

* * *

And of course it wasn't over. Emma Swan was not the only stubborn one.

The large cardboard envelope in her mailbox stopped her. She hadn't ordered anything, and real mail was limited to the yearly birthday card that Snow insisted on sending, despite their sporadic email correspondence. But there it was, surrounded by take out menus and political campaign flyers shoved in her mailbox. She turned it, expecting to see a neighbor's name, she had to pause when she saw her own sprawled across the front. She'd recognize that handwriting anywhere, just as he knew hers.

She put away her groceries, started dinner and tried to carry on with life, all the while the envelope sat there in her kitchen. The more she tried to ignore it, the more it called her to it, leaving a pit in her stomach. She thought the counter should buckle under the weight of it. It almost went in the garbage several times, but it was as though the letter wouldn't allow it. And so it sat.

Until she could bear it no longer. She knew opening it would be opening the door to her past. It would be letting him in. But she rationalized by saying she could read the letter, but not respond. He'd never need to know.

She tore off the strip and peered inside, finding two unmatched envelopes. One simply had "Swan" written on the outside, and the other had the same name, but with the addition of a 1. She figured she was meant to read that one first and slid her finger under the edge, releasing the seal and opened up the paper.

 _Swan,_

 _I know now that you never read the letters I sent while you were incarcerated. I wish you had, but we can't change the past. But you need to know that I never stopped writing you, even once I didn't know how to even get them to you. I've saved every one._

 _These letters have become my journal of a sort. A journal that rightfully belongs to you. These letters contain every detail of my life these past years. They'll contain stories I've forgotten. Friends who didn't stay. Loves come and gone. You've been my confidant, Emma. Just as you would have been had you not left us._

 _I know you'll read sentiments in these letters that will occasionally hurt you. I've been hurt by you. I've been angry with you. For leaving us. The girl who has only known abandonment not putting herself in our shoes, to think of what she's done to us by disappearing without a trace. As though we, the ones who love her most, meant nothing to you._

 _And yes, you'll read about how much I love you, Emma. You didn't know. I never told you. It was never the right time. But I've never stopped. I will never stop. Just as these letters will never stop._

 _I hope you'll read._

 _Killian_

* * *

She had struggled to make it home through the rain, with a broken heel no less, and opened the door into the warmth of her apartment. It wasn't much, a simple one bedroom, but it was hers. It had been a dreadful day and she'd lost her skip in a crowd and ruined her shoes in the process. But dry clothes and her arm chair did not bring the comfort she needed. She missed someone to talk to. To tell her everything was going to be okay. She was twenty eight years old, and she just needed someone to tell her it would be alright.

It had been two days since she opened his first letter. So unsure of what the second would contain, she'd sat staring at it almost constantly, thumbing at the edge of the envelope until the paper curled up on its own. After the misery of the day, she decided it was time. Maybe it would hurt her, but it would bring news from home. The stories Snow or David would never think to tell.

Ripping it open, she dove into the words. It was three pages, scrawled front and back. As she read, she realized he must have come back to the pages occasionally over a few days. Some trains of thought would drift off, only to be picked up later after more consideration. But she was right, there was news from home. Stories about people from her youth, told through Killian's lens. His words making her laugh one moment, and groan the next. The vandalism of the mayor's apple tree had been headline news. His neighbor's dog getting loose, yet again. She scrunched up her nose at bits, trying to make sense as the words probably alluded to an earlier letter. All she could glean was that his feud with the high school janitor had not ended upon graduation. Snow had kept her up to date on most of the town gossip, but there was something special in reading it from Killian's point of view. She wanted to fight the feeling, but three pages was all it took to remind her of why she'd been friends with him. And how very, very much she missed him in her life.

The letters started arriving with regularity. Mondays and Thursdays. Always a large cardboard envelope. Always two letters: one old, one new. All ending exactly the same way. _Come home, Swan. Please._

Some days the old letters would be so joyous. There would be news of a promotion at work, or a bet he'd won with Dave, some nonsense that she could just tell made him happy. And happy to share it with her. But then she'd get to the end, and she could feel the hurt and the pleading. _Come home, Swan. Please._

The new letters continued in much the same vein as the old. Recaps of his week. Stories of their friends. But the details were new. Almost as though he were writing a sales brochure for her hometown. _Swan, do you remember the harbor and how peaceful it was? I still go there to think. It's quiet, and reminds me of time with you. I know you don't have anything like it in Boston. The water's too noisy there. Storybrooke, well Storybrooke you can sit for hours, like we used to do. We had so many plans. I still remember us sat up on the wall, looking out at the horizon wondering what the world would bring. I want to go back to that boy and tell him to hold on and never let you go. Come home, Swan. Please._

Some letters were clearly from his time still in the Navy. Raunchy stories about his fellow servicemen, gripes about the food, long love letters to soft sheets, even fluffier pillows, and the guest room of Snow and David's new house. Those letters always contained a countdown to when he thought he'd next get leave. _52 days, love, and I'll be back in Storybrooke. Meet me there, Please._

Any amount of comfort she got from his letters, reminders of the true friendship she had been lacking for so long, was immediately crushed when she'd look up from the paper and take stock of her surroundings. Her life was nothing more than an existence. No friends, just acquaintances. No hobbies, just work. Nothing that made life full, as she knew how hard it was to leave things you loved behind when it all went wrong. Even with the pain she always felt after reading, she couldn't bring herself to throw his letters away. Not anymore. She'd rush home on nights she knew his envelopes would be waiting, ready to dive into his words. It was though she truly lived only when reading his letters. The rest of her time was spent just waiting.

The first time his letter hurt, she nearly cracked. It was the first letter. The first letter for which he had no address. Even after so many years, and knowing that there was a level of forgiveness, the anger she read in his words cut her to her core. He'd returned on leave, ready to spend a week with Snow and David, only to receive the news that she'd been released and disappeared without a trace.

For the first time since his letters had started to arrive, she climbed into bed and cried herself to sleep.

* * *

It was a last minute decision, driving to Storybrooke to attend Snow and David's son's christening. The invitation had been staring her in the face for weeks. Of course she hadn't replied, hadn't RSVP'd. But something in her compelled her to pack a bag and get in the car for the long drive north. Maybe it was Snow's handwritten note tucked inside the invitation, emphasizing how much it would mean to have her there for such an important event. Maybe it was the words in Killian's most recent letter, telling her he wanted to be her home.

Even unannounced, she was sure they'd be happy to see her and that she would be welcomed in with open arms, offers of food, hugs, and more smiles and tears than she could handle. That didn't quell her nerves in the slightest.

She wasn't prepared for _him_ to answer, baby on his hip, surprise quickly turning to elation when he realized it was her.

"Emma." He was stunned, but tried to hide his smile and play off his joy, figuring nonchalance was the best method to make her feel comfortable. "Look lad, it's your Aunt Emma. Give her a big smile, Leo." He bounced the baby in his arms and swung him into Emma, making zooming noises.

At that, the boy laughed, perfectly happy in Killian's arms, as though it were a natural place for him to be. He led her into the living room announcing her unexpected arrival to her adopted brother and sister-in-law. She questioned if she even had the right to call them that, whether she had any right to the title of "Aunt Emma" which Killian had so quickly bestowed on her.

The feeling of home hit her so quickly as she entered the living room, but it wasn't a pleasant feeling. It was more a reminder of what she didn't have. A quick glance around and she spied bits of her youth; the arm chair she called her own, David having rescued it from Ruth's house. A picture of the foursome from a high school ski trip. She didn't get a chance to look around any further before she was consumed by a pair of arms, embracing her in a crushing hug.

"Emma, why didn't you tell us you were coming? Oh my goodness, David she's here. I need to go get Killian's room ready for her."

Emma turned to her adoptive brother with a questioning glance, but it was Killian who answered.

"The Nolans here took pity on my after my accident and my dismissal from the Navy. I was in no state to take care of myself, so I lived here until I was back on my feet. I think they're still hoping I'll come claim my room again."

David laughed. "That and we have you put your sorry, drunk ass to sleep in there some nights still."

"You're drunk, too. Don't try to make it out as though I'm the only one, mate."

"Boys!" Emma was quickly transported back to high school, when Snow was always the peacemaker of the group. "Let's not debate who is drunker more often. Killian, you put Leo in his highchair. David, you go out and see if Emma's got a bag in her car and take it to Killian's room. I'll get a plate set for you, Emma. Dinner's just about ready. You're just in time."

And with that, she was welcomed back into the fold as though she had never left.

And it scared her.

They didn't press her during dinner, knowing enough of what she'd been up to over the years. They tried to catch her up on Storybrooke news. Stories of Leo. Reminiscing about high school. And as she sat and listened, she wanted to cry.

It was Killian's steady gaze across the table that kept her grounded. She needed to hold it together, knowing that if she cried, if she showed any sign of the misery she felt in her current life, David and Killian would be on the road in a heartbeat, back to Boston to pack up her things, not even giving her a choice but to stay.

As soon as Leo was put to bed, a celebratory bottle of rum was found in a cabinet, and drinks were shared all around. They became louder, laughed harder, and Emma found herself glad that Killian was seated in her old armchair. If he'd been close, she would have found it too easy to curl up next to him, letting him put his arm around her the way David's was wrapped around Snow. She could see him watching her as they talked, his eyes never leaving her face, and she wanted to find it unsettling, but all it did was make her upset that she couldn't watch him in return, not without him knowing. As it was, every time he caught her glance, his eyebrow would rise and his lip would curl, as though he could read her thoughts.

Emma shared nothing with her friends, simply happy to be here while they went on as though nothing had ever changed. They didn't pry. Didn't press, for which she was grateful. One word and her carefully built fortress keeping them at arm's distance would come crumbling down. So Emma sat silent, allowing herself one night in the life she should have had.

* * *

Snow and David had disappeared up the stairs, leaving the two of them alone in the living room, along with the last dregs of the bottle of rum.

She looked over at him, sitting in the recliner. "You're in my chair." Her words were only slightly slurred. If Emma Swan had one constant companion in these past 10 years, it was alcohol. The amber liquid only making her more confident, looser, she still retained all of her senses.

"What's the phrase, Swan? 'Move your feet. Lose your seat.' This is my chair now. You gave it up a long time ago."

The recliner had always been hers. From the day she'd moved in to Ruth's, it had been her sanctuary. The one place she could sit that kept her in the same room as everyone else, but never forcing her to share. Others could scrunch together on the couch, but the recliner was all hers.

"You're in my seat," she stated again.

He leveled her with a stare, the alcohol making him bolder. "Yes Emma Swan. I know this is your seat. But I'm not moving. The only solution I see is for us to share it." His look challenged her, daring her to join him. He reached ever to the sofa and grabbed her hand, giving it a slight tug to see if she'd take the bait, and she did. Rising from her place on the couch, she stood and stepped to the recliner, looking down on him. "I said share it, Swan." He released her hand to reach up and cup her cheek, and she leaned into his hand closing her eyes. "Please sit down, Swan. It's bad form for me to make a lady stand."

And that's when he found himself with the elusive Emma Swan curled up in his lap, lips pressed to his, one hand finding its way through the buttons of his shirt fingers stroking the whorls of dark curls on his chest, while her other hand fisted in his hair, pulling him tightly to her. It was so sudden, and so unexpected a move, it took him a moment to adjust, trying to decide whether to give in, or make her slow down and explain.

But 10 years of longing won out, and he couldn't stop himself. His arm circled around her back, pulling her close as he ran his hand through her hair, tangling his fingers through her curls. Every bit of pent up passion for this woman escaped in the move of his mouth and tongue as their lips tangled. She may not have spent the years dreaming of him the same way, but each move was met with the same ferocity, until the chair could no longer contain them. With one swift movement, he lifted her as she wrapped her legs around his waist, and carried her into his room, laying her in the bed.

They slowed only a little when they entered the room. Neither spoke a word as they removed each other's clothing piece by piece, almost reverently until they were both bare and finally exposed. There was nothing between them. Emma lay sprawled on her back with Killian settled between her legs studying her face, and he saw the slight nod, and again, no more words were exchanged. Tender kisses became more demanding. Gentle exploration until each discovered exactly what the other needed. Silence until they could no longer contain it, muffled moans and cries, hoping they did not alert their hosts to their activities

He fell asleep with her in his arms, knowing that this had been a mistake, but unable to be sorry for it, not while he could feel the rise and fall of her chest against his and not when he heard, ever so quietly, the name _Killian_ escape her lips as she slept.

* * *

He woke in his room in the dead of night, alone, with Emma Swan on his mind. Like every other time he'd woken in his room at the Nolan's. He glanced around, noting her bag was still there. She hadn't fled, but the only trace of her in the bed, the only reminder of the night they'd shared, was her scent on the pillow.

"Fuck." He leaned back and scrubbed his face, angry with himself for letting it go so far. He knew his punishment would be distance. One step forward, miles back. He'd be lucky if he would get one word out of her today.

Pretending the circumstance was different, he allowed himself to lay there for a moment, holding the pillow as if it were her, eyes closed, breathing deeply. _If only,_ he thought.

He climbed out of bed, and went to find her. She would try to give him the silent treatment, but he needed to say his piece. Finding her asleep on the couch, he kneeled down leveling his face with hers. Her blonde hair was in tangles, probably his fault. So many years spent dreaming of running his hands through her locks, now given the chance his one hand had to do the work of two, and it had made up for lost time. Her breathing was steady, but the wrinkle on her brow revealed that her sleep was not easy. Hesitating to wake her, he studied her face for a moment, taking in her beauty. But her beauty was never the real draw for Killian Jones. Even as teenagers, it was her spirit. And that spirit was still there today. She'd been beaten and pushed down at every turn in her life. All he wanted was to be here, to be the one to support her, through a life that wasn't trying to work against her. Now was that time. He'd do everything he could to show her that.

"Emma, love. Get up. You go back and take the bedroom. I'll take the sofa, love. Please." She moved slightly, sleepily acknowledging his words, but instead of standing to move to the bedroom, she pulled his hand, indicating he should join her on the couch. Almost nothing could have induced him to stay, knowing the price he'd pay when she woke up in the morning would be distance, but again he heard his name on her lips in her sleep. _Killian_. Nothing could stop him. He climbed in behind her on the sofa, wrapping his arm around her again as she rolled to face him in his arms. One last time, he heard his name, and she was back in a dead sleep.

He lay there and appreciated what he knew would not last as long as he could, until sleep claimed him.

* * *

He woke up alone, again. Snow's voice trying to quiet a crying Leo. David calling to her about his missing tie. The smell of breakfast in the air. Ruth calling that she'd wake the bum sleeping on the couch. He smiled at that, knowing she was kidding. But the smile turned to an immediate frown when he realized the one voice he hadn't heard. Sitting up in a rush, ready to dart into the kitchen, he nearly bowled Ruth over as she entered the room.

"Slow down, Captain. No rush today." Her arms circled his waist as she captured him in a tight hug. "She's home, Killian. She's really here. I think I have you to thank for that," he heard her say quietly. His fear that Emma had left without saying goodbye quieted, he took a moment to return Ruth's embrace.

"She's not staying, Ruth. I can't convince her to stay." He felt guilty all of the sudden, for bringing Emma back into their lives only to have her leave again. Ruth had been a surrogate mother to him, his having died so young, and knowing the pain she'd endured the first time Emma left, he silently admonished himself for putting her through it again.

He heard the woman chuckle in his arms, as though she knew a secret. "My boy, she's home. She doesn't know it yet, but she's home. She'll try to run again, but she'll be back. You'll see. Just keep doing whatever it is you've been doing."

"I hope you're right, Ruth." He sighed, allowing himself to slump a little and dropping his head on top of hers. "Truly, I hope you're right."

"If there's one person who knows my daughter better than you, Killian, it's me. She'll be back. And until then, well we just have to wait."

He dropped a kiss to her head, and took her hand, joining the rest of the group in the kitchen.

"Bum has arisen. We can eat and get a move on to church. Time to get this boy baptized. Killian, go get cleaned up. I will not have my grandson's Godfather looking like a ragamuffin in all of the photos."

He snuck a quick glance over to Emma, who was overly interested in her eggs. But she wouldn't look up, and wouldn't even acknowledge his entrance into the kitchen until Ruth stepped in.

"And you, young lady. You need to go clean up as well. Don't tell me you drove all this way for a christening and didn't bring a dress. I raised you better than that. I will not have you standing up at the front of the church in boots and a leather jacket. If you don't have one, well you're going to make do with something out of Snow's closet."

She shook her head in confusion. "Ruth, I'm not going to be up in front of the church. It doesn't matter what I wear."

"Ruth, we didn't ask her. I…" Snow trailed off but David stepped in. It was the first time anyone in the room said anything to acknowledge the tentative nature of her presence in their lives. "Emma, we want you to be Leo's Godmother. But we understand if you don't want to say yes. We didn't want you to feel like we were pressuring you."

"I can't." She shook her head back and forth slowly, shocked that they would even ask. "You guys can't ask me to do that. I won't be here for him. You need to find someone who will be here for him."

David smiled tightly, as Snow left the room upset with this confirmation that Emma planned to leave. "It doesn't feel right to have anyone but you, Emma."

Ruth stepped around to Emma, pulling her into a hug. "It's okay, baby. We hoped you'd stay. But it's okay. Just because you leave today doesn't mean you can't come back. We'll always be here for you."

Killian returned to the room to hear Ruth's comforting words, and Emma looked up just as he walked through the doorway. David dropped Leo into his arms and left the room to find his wife, just as Killian came over to join Ruth and Emma. "Isn't that right, my boy? We'll always be here for her."

"Always, Ruth." If Emma wouldn't acknowledge his presence, he could at least respond to Ruth's inquiry, knowing Emma would hear.

* * *

He saw the red jacket dash from the pews as soon as the last words to the ceremony were said, and he quickly handed Leo over to David, wordlessly explaining his quick departure. It took standing in front of the door to her car to get her to acknowledge him, but she couldn't leave without listening to his last plea.

"Emma, we need to talk."

"Killian, I know what you're going to say. That I need to come home. That you all need me here. That you miss me. You don't even know me, not anymore. You knew that 17 year old girl. Before the last ten years happened. You don't know who I am now."

"I'd like to. I want the chance, Emma. We all want the chance." He bit back his instinct to tell her it was her own fault that they didn't know her anymore, knowing it wasn't the time for blame. "It's not just me, Emma. It's every last one of us. You belong here. You've done nothing, Emma. You don't deserve to live the life you're living right now. You don't deserve any of what you've been through these past 10 years. Please, come home."

"This isn't my home, Killian." She wouldn't look him in the eyes, and gazed out over the cars in the parking lot.

"It should be. You should have never left. You should have come home to us the first chance you had."

"You're in my way." It was all she said, not trusting herself to say anything further.

He moved, and she opened the car door, but he had one final request before she drove off.

"Emma?" She looked up at him for the first time, and saw the pain in his face. "Could you at least write back. Please?"

She said nothing, simply closing her door, and heading towards the sign at the town line, fully intending to never see it again.

* * *

It had only been one night, but it had been enough to unsettle her. Returning to Boston, to her "home," felt wrong when her brain, and if she were honest with herself, her heart, were miles north with her family.

She knew she shouldn't do it, but couldn't stop herself. Re-reading all of Killian's letters, she could now picture almost everything he described in even more detail. Snow's new haircut, the sound of Leo's laugh, exactly where everyone would be sitting for Christmas. But now, she also knew exactly where she'd be sitting. She could see herself there, with them. Having a life. And for the first time she realized that it wouldn't matter what anyone else thought about her. Ruth, David, Snow, and Killian would rather have her there, with them, and deal with anything the town could say, than have her in this self-imposed exile. It was never they who left her. It was she who abandoned them.

If she'd had his phone number she would have sent a text, but smiled knowing it was better this way. Pulling out a legal pad, and a security envelope, she scrawled a quick note.

 _Killian,_

 _You're right. And I miss you. Come bring me home._

 _Emma_

She looked down at her words, knowing they were weak compared to the years and years of missives he'd shared. But she knew it would be enough. Emma Swan was always better with action. She left the words to Killian Jones. Feeling light for the first time in years, she ran the letter down to the post office, wanting to ensure it would go out with Monday's first mail

It didn't take long. She knew the first few days not to expect anything, but then every set of footsteps in the hallway would set her heart racing, wondering if next she'd hear a knock at her door. She used the days to pack, to resign, to close up any loose ends of her life, but was done faster than even she expected. It was more confirmation that this was not a home, just a place to exist.

When his knock finally came, she knew. It wasn't Ruby's knock. Or even Ruby's grandmother's knock. It was the knock she'd been waiting for, wishing for.

This time, there was no trying to close the door. When she saw the dark hair, clear, brilliant blue eyes, shining with happiness and hope, she only flung it wider.

* * *

The letters continued upon her return to Storybrooke, with one small change. Upon opening the mailbox on Tuesdays and Fridays, he had responses. Her letters were short, as she found it hard to put into words all she wanted to say. But they were more than enough for him.

 _Killian,_

 _Stop checking the mail. Come back inside. I'd like to kiss you now. And I need you to help with dinner._

 _Thank you for bringing me home._


	23. Chapter 23

Disclaimer - I know nothing about the Mars program, Space, Baking, or pretty much anything else discussed below. Suspend disbelief and just enjoy, please?

* * *

Days and nights flowed together. There was no concept of the passing of time.

Everything was boring

It's not exactly the life she'd imagined when she signed up for the Mars program. But what did she have to leave behind besides the slowly dying Japanese Peace Lily her landlord had insisted on gifting her when she moved in.

But for the first time in her life, amongst a group of people who all felt as though Earth held nothing more for them, Emma felt like she was home. They were a motley group of misfits, some running for various and sundry reasons, some with lofty visions of helping to build a better life for future generations. Emma Swan definitely fell into the former category. No job hassles. No worrying over the next paycheck. No wondering if every young boy she saw was the right age to be her child.

No, here everything was set. You had your work duties, and the rest of your time was your own. And the kindred spirits aboard the vessel currently careening through space were cut from the same cloth. The "keep to yourself and we're all going to get along just fine" cloth.

* * *

She'd made friends, David Nolan her bunk mate for starters. You couldn't share a cube that small with someone and not learn a thing or two. And with Nolan, everything she learned made her know she liked the guy. He was solid. Completely dependable, smart, charming, and funny. Everything she could want in a man… as a brother. She'd rolled her eyes at the hooting and hollering that had come from some of their shipmates when each of the male/female cabin assignments were called, questioning the mental ages of the people she'd committed the rest of her life to.

It was for Nolan that she'd snuck into the kitchen well past operating hours. Lucas, who ran the operation with military precision, would most likely kill her in the morning, but this would be worth it. It took no time to find everything she needed, but before she could actually start, she was interrupted.

"Well, what do we have here? You're braver than I even thought. Lucas will have your head for this in the morning. I won't be able to stop her, Emma."

She looked up, and saw him standing in the doorway, leaning up against it as though he didn't have a care in the world. But she knew something was up. There was no reason for him to be in the kitchen either.

"Captain Jones." She nodded, showing the respect that all aboard the vessel tended to give him, even though as civilians they weren't technically required. Captain Jones wasn't just one of the astronauts on board, he was THE astronaut. This was his mission. This was his ship. And while the civilians didn't answer to him, they knew who was in charge.

He sauntered into the kitchen, finally settling behind her, assessing the counter over her shoulder. She wanted to mind how close he was standing, but couldn't.

"What's this, Emma? Flour, eggs, cocoa, sugar. Why does it look like you're making a cake?"

Trying not to let him know how his presence was affecting her, she shrugged out from between him and the counter, desperate to retrieve anything from the refrigerator. "It is a cake. It's Nolan's birthday tomorrow, and I thought I'd surprise him."

He smiled. Of all the non-military people on the ship, he'd developed a close friendship with the man. By no means would he get in her way if the trespass was for his friend. "Shouldn't this be Blanchard's job? I shouldn't say anything, but from what I hear, those two have become quite close."

She couldn't help but groan.

"Believe me, if you had to share a bunk with Nolan you'd know just how close they've become."

He laughed, but approached her again, this time standing just far enough away that she wanted him to move closer. Until she heard his reply.

"You know, Emma, as captain of this ship one of the perks is a private berth. You're quite welcome to share it with me."

It was her turn to laugh, again moving away, this time to stop herself from moving forward. "You'd like that wouldn't you?" She asked as she got to work, mixing the ingredients together, hoping he didn't catch the blush that rose on her face.

"Perhaps I would." She couldn't see his face as he said it, but she heard his sincerity. This wasn't mere flirting. He was exposing a true wish. One that scared her.

Everything she'd learned about their captain over the past months of their voyage intrigued her. He was more than a man doing it for country and for glory. He was running as much as the rest of them. Earth was no longer home and he had nothing to lose. There was a story there, and she wanted to know more.

But she also knew that it would only lead to trouble. There was nowhere to run when it all inevitably went wrong. These were the people she'd committed to spending the rest of her life with and she had no desire for endless years of unavoidable awkward mornings after.

Rather than continue his topic of conversation, she turned the tables on him. "And what's made you risk Lucas' wrath? Or are you exempt, Captain Jones?"

"You know, you don't need to call me Captain Jones, Emma."

"And what should I call you, Jones?"

"Killian will do."

He'd lowered his voice again, but wasn't addressing her directly. On his hands and knees he was fiddling with a loose panel of the cabinetry and she was taken aback when he popped it off with a loud "ah! There it is."

She'd given up working on the cake for a moment, fully invested in what had the ship's captain crawling around on the floor dismantling the millwork. When his arm reached into the recess, and came back out with a bottle of rum, all of her questions were answered. Beer, fine. Wine, fine. Champagne, no unfortunately due to the cork. But the line had been drawn at hard alcohol, having deemed it dangerous incase anyone were to get inebriated. Apparently the captain had other ideas.

"I didn't figure you for a smuggler, Captain. Do you plan on opening the first bar on Mars, or is this for your own personal consumption?"

"This is for my own personal consumption, although if you're nice to me I'll share." The swagger had returned, and he stood with the cabinet open, eyebrow raised in question, silently asking if he should be retrieving one glass or two. "And I told you, it's Killian."

She nodded, and he pulled the second glass down, pouring them both a healthy measure. Between her time on board, and their training time, it had been years since Emma had any hard liquor, and the burn caused her to choke a bit after her first sip, but she immediately followed it up with another, and another. She'd forgotten the feeling of alcohol coursing through your veins, and with her non-existent tolerance, she could feel the weight of every burden she had too much time to think about lifting away.

"Careful there, Emma. You're not used to this." He lifted her glass out of her hand and pointed to the ingredients on the counter. "Let's get down to this cake, and then you can have more once it's in the oven, deal?"

"Aye, aye, Capta… Killian." She was slightly embarrassed. There was no way the rum should have hit her that fast, but space had a way of playing tricks on your body, and your brain. At least that's what she was going to tell herself.

She knew her way around Lucas' kitchen. Most were assigned regular kitchen shifts, and it was one of the tasks she found most pleasurable. She'd never known anything about cooking before this, and now she could help feed a surprising number of people, cook up single meals, and… if all went well, bake a cake. She'd found the recipe in a book of Lucas' earlier in the week, everything supposedly adjusted to what would be required for baking in space. But Lucas had quickly found out that NASA was much more skilled at making rockets and flight suits than they were at figuring out how to re-hydrate beef and make it tasty. Luckily Lucas, the oldest of the passengers, had run a restaurant for years prior to their mission, and quickly fixed all of NASA's errors.

She didn't know if it was the alcohol, she wanted it to be the alcohol, but working in tandem with Jones in the kitchen was natural. He was a step ahead of her every time she needed something, and was quite eager to assist in any task she could give him.

The heat she felt radiating off of his body every time he passed near her, well that was definitely the alcohol. It had to be. _It's just the rum_ she told herself. Her brain and the rum were having conversations she definitely couldn't keep up with. So when he sidled up next to her as she closed the oven door, ready to return the tumbler he'd confiscated earlier, she questioned whether she should take it. Accepting it would mean quieting the part of her brain telling her to keep him at arm's length. That it wouldn't be worth it. That he couldn't be worth it.

But she took the glass, and stood silently in front of him, almost as though she were challenging him. She wanted to know what his next move would be.

"Frosting."

"What?" Her brain had been so busy trying to decide whether or not she'd accept his advances, she wasn't prepared for them not to come.

"Frosting. What do we do for that? I'm sure you make a delicious cake, Emma, but it will need frosting."

She tried to return to a normal train of thought, and finally took a sip of the rum and started preparing the sugar and butter. Her mind was racing again, and she was glad for the task to serve as a distraction. It allowed her to concentrate on anything but him. She was confused with what to do. Months of flirtation, and the night she finally decides she'd take him up on the next innuendo or suggestion, he stops? She had decided she could blame it all on the rum. Tell him it was a mistake, and it won't happen again. That he's the captain and she's just a passenger. They need to keep the relationship professional. And now, she thought, all of the sudden he's Betty fucking Crocker concerned with the frosting for his friend's cake.

Just because he wouldn't do it didn't mean she couldn't.

She finished the frosting and turned towards him, her body completely challenging him. "Want to taste?"

He raised an eyebrow, just like she knew he would, and nodded. She raised her eyebrows in return, and didn't even look away as she dipped her finger into the bowl, coming away with a large dollop of frosting. She raised the digit in front of her, and he never broke eye contact as he leaned over and licked his lips before circling them around it. She closed her eyes and moaned as he sucked the sugary cream from her finger, just as he moaned at the taste of both her, and the chocolate. She felt his tongue sweep her skin as he released it with a pop, and she opened her eyes and let out a deep sigh.

"Good?"

He nodded. "You should try for yourself." He went to reach his own finger into the bowl, but before he could she grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him towards her, pressing her lips to his, tongue sweeping across his mouth, requesting access he happily granted. He tasted of chocolate and rum, and Emma would never be able to get enough. He quickly lifted her to the counter, trailing kisses along her neck, as she ran her hands through his hair and explored the shell of his ear. Time became meaningless as the two relished each other's touch.

It wasn't until the timer went off on the oven that either even attempted to pull away. Emma was nearly dizzy, drunk off of his kisses more than any affect the rum could have had. He had to help her down from the counter, and she walked more than a little unsteady to the oven to remove the cake. She looked, and it was perfect. Golden brown, and as she sunk the toothpick in and it came up clean. She turned around with the cake in hand, smile wide, kisses temporarily forgotten.

"Killian! It worked."

"What worked, Emma?"

"The cake, it's perfect."

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"Because I've never made a cake. All the recipes have to be toyed with to get them to work. Lucas wasn't here to watch over me and tell me what to do. This whole thing was a gamble."

His smile grew as wide as hers as he listened. "I've yet to see you fail at anything, Emma. A cake definitely wouldn't be what stopped you." She placed the pan on the counter, and stood proud with her hands on her hips. The smile, both at the cake, at the support from the man in front of her, and just a little from the rum, still evident.

He took advantage of her open posture, and gathered her up in his arms. "Now, Emma. I do believe we have to wait for that cake to cool before we can frost it. May I suggest some pleasurable activities?" She couldn't help but burst out laughing. The innuendo was back.

He released her, and took a step away. Laughter wasn't what he expected after the way she'd kissed him. But she stopped him, pulling him back towards her. "Get back here, Captain."

"It's Captain again, is it? Just a moment ago I remember hearing Killian cross your lips, and quite enjoyed the manner in which it was being said."

Before they could continue the door to the kitchen flung open, and they were joined by Blanchard and Nolan. Both were obviously embarrassed to be caught together so late at night.

"Captain. Swan. Sorry to interrupt…" Nolan looked back and forth at the two of them, in each other's arms and put together the pieces quickly. "Whatever this is."

Emma and Killian both tried to back away from each other, but as soon as Emma took one look at Killian's wild hair she knew there would be no hiding, not really, what they'd been up to.

They both started to stammer, Killian finding it awkward to be explaining himself to someone else for a change, but Nolan stopped him. "I didn't say I wanted to know."

Blanchard stood at his side, radiantly beaming. Killian couldn't help but question her.

"Blanchard. What's so amusing?"

She didn't even miss a beat before replying. "Well, you and Swan, Captain Jones. This makes me happy."

Emma rolled her eyes, and walked over to shoo them from the room. She didn't want Nolan to see the cake, but also did not want to discuss this any further. "It's a one time thing Blanchard. It's not like this means anything. Now go. I was trying to give you guys privacy and you come invade my hiding space? I'm going to have to come back in to sleep eventually, and I'd prefer for you guys to be asleep when I get there, please."

Nolan happily retreated from the room, but Blanchard wasn't giving up as Emma pushed them through the doorway. "But Swan, he's got a private room. Just think of how well this could work out for all of us." Emma didn't dignify that with a response as she closed the door behind them.

The first thing she noticed when she turned around was the crestfallen look on Killian's face.

"What's wrong, Killian?"

"A one time thing?"

She studied him and realized he was truly upset. She didn't know if she meant it when she said it, but now, seeing his disappointment at the idea that this was over as soon as it had begun, she couldn't let go.

She smiled and plunged her finger back into the bowl of frosting and held it up in front of him again. As he leaned down and licked the frosting from her skin, she leaned into his shoulder and whispered in his ear, "definitely not a one time thing."

* * *

The next afternoon, after lunch was served and cleaned, and only a few of their friends remained in the dining room, Emma emerged from the kitchen with the cake. It was candle-less unfortunately, due to rules none of them could break, but they all encouraged Nolan to make a wish anyway. In the oddest of celebrations, they sang, he blew on his cake, and they all clapped. Blanchard piped up first, asking what his wish was.

"I already have it," he said, grasping her hand and leaning over to kiss her. The room groaned at their display of affection.

As the cake was served, and they all chatted, he pulled Jones aside.

"Captain, speaking as Emma's friend, don't screw this up." Killian nodded, as he was sure to add more. "Because it was really nice having the bunk to myself last night."

He burst out laughing and slapped his friend on the back. "Consider it my birthday gift to you, mate."


	24. Chapter 24

Someone requested a fluffy epilogue to counteract the pain we're feeling after last week. Here you go!

* * *

It was Monday. She loved Mondays. It was her day to get the mail, and no matter how tough her day had been, she never forgot to check it on her way into the house.

She stopped at the mailbox, reaching inside for today's deliveries, but there was only one slim envelope. Her name was on the outside, in Killian's hand, but there was no postmark. He always mailed his letters. It was the first sign something was different. The second was the lump not hidden at all by the folds of his thick stationary.

Her fingers ripped the envelope open greedily.

The letter was short, and she read the words quickly.

Emma love,

Come inside. I have something to ask you.

She looked down at the ring as it fell into her hand, and a smile spread across her face. She knew what he had to ask. She knew what her answer would be.

It was late, and he'd be upstairs in their bed, doing the crossword or reading as he waited up. He always waited up for her. He told her he couldn't sleep until he knew she made it home safe. Every night as she walked into their bedroom and saw her boyfriend, bone weary from his own long day, struggling to keep his eyes open, she felt more loved than she even knew possible.

Tonight she didn't run straight up to him. She stopped in their shared office, grabbing a piece of paper out of the printer and one of the cheap security envelopes she kept on hand. Some things would never change. Quickly writing one word on the paper, she shoved it into the envelope and scribbled his name across the front.

As she entered their room he looked up, searching her face for an answer. All she did was hand him the envelope, trying not to give the game away. He ripped into his letter even more greedily than she had into hers, ripping the paper as he pulled it out, anxious, but deep down already knowing what her response would be.

Yes.

He didn't need a flowery speech, or any long declaration of love. All he needed was that one word. Pulling her into his arms, he started peppering her with kisses as they both laughed. Finally she held out the ring, insisting that he be the one to slide it on her finger, to which he happily did the honors.

(they framed those letters, and hung them side by side.)


End file.
